Unbreakable
by Kalia Clyde
Summary: Hermione is getting more than she bargained for lately. She just wants to attend Auror Acacdemy, but her roommate annoys her, Ron makes things tough, and she now has a stalker bent on killing her. What more could go wrong? Troublesome feelings, of course!
1. Farewell Hogwarts

**_Author's Note:_** Welcome, lovelies, to another one of my stories. As is customary, I will say that you can find a disclaimer to this - an all my stories - in my profile. I will also mention that this story is partly in response to a challenge on my website. If anyone would like the link to that challenge, they have but to ask. Also, I must take a moment to thank the marvelous _Vera-Sabe_ for her help in producing a title for this fic. Now, without further ado, I give you _Unbreakable_....

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**Chapter 1 – Farewell Hogwarts**

Hermione stepped out of the carriage and into the hustle and bustle of Hogwarts students who were anxious to be going home for the summer. Or in her case, home for good.

She would never return to Hogwarts, at least not as a student, and this thought weighed heavily on her mind. She paused and stood against the flow of students who were pushing their way along the platform in Hogsmeade.

"Hey, c'mon! Get out of the way!" snapped one fourth year Slytherin.

Hermione was going to retaliate, but she felt that it was not worth the effort. Besides, she did not want to taint her last moments at Hogwarts by arguing with some snobby Slytherin.

She stepped aside and grabbed the doorway of the train car. Her eyes scanned the castle that sat atop the hill surrounded by a forest of dark pines. It seemed so far away, yet she could still faintly smell the musty library and the sweet aroma of the dining hall. She could hear the voices of the paintings as they chattered in their frames and the cackle of Peeves as he floated recklessly through the corridors. The vivid colors of Gryffindor common room flashed in her mind and her fingers tingled with the feel of her favorite, tattered lounge chair.

"Hermione?" She turned and glanced at Ginny, who was standing beside her. "C'mon... we'll miss the train home if you keep standing there in a daze like that."

Nodding, Hermione grabbed the other side of the doorway and put a foot up on the step. She looked over her shoulder and spotted Hagrid. He waved as he helped a first year student with his trunk. She would miss visiting Hagrid, especially since she had grown so accustomed to it over the last few months. He, Ginny, and Luna had been the only consistent things in the newness of a revived castle and new classmates.

Hermione's eyes traveled back up to Hogwarts. She sighed as she took what would be her last look for quite some time. She realized she would never see the wizarding school through the eyes of a student again as sounds around her became distant. She etched the glimmer of the windows and rise of the turrets in her mind. The whistle of the train broke her reverie, and she heaved another sigh.

It was like a rite of passage as she stepped fully up into the train and meandered carelessly along the corridor. She was no longer a child. Of course, she was older than all the other students by a year or two, so she was already more of an adult, but there was something special and sacred in the gesture of leaving the school this time. Hogwarts did not have a graduation ceremony like Muggle high schools, so Hermione figured this last train ride as a student would be as close of a graduation as she would get.

Naturally, she was happy about going home. She had missed Harry and Ron because she had not stayed in contact with them as much as she would have liked since she went back to Hogwarts. However, that was understandable because she had been busy with studying for her N.E.W.T.s, and they had been absorbed with their own schooling at the Auror Academy. Nevertheless, she was going home now, and she had no need to fret over the amount of contact they would have because she would be joining them soon anyways.

No one knew that, of course. Hermione had entrusted that secret to no one but her journal. Her decision to go to the Auror Academy had been one that she made hastily out of loyalty, devotion, and a strong sense of righteousness. All the dark wizards that had been in the war had not been captured yet. She wanted to help put them to justice for what they had done. After all, she could not leave Ron, Harry, and Neville to be the only ones who went on to help in the effort to right the wizarding world.

Her decision had come as a shock to even herself, though, so she could only just imagine the surprise of those around her when she broke the news to them. In fact, Hermione had only just changed her plans a week ago. In her heart, she felt it was the right thing to do, yet her gut did a strange squirming dance every time she thought about the sudden change of career. Her mind was still stuck on the thought of how nervous she was.

She did not have the approval of those around her or the guarantee that the Auror Academy would even accept her admittance so late. Most students who were vying for the program had alerted the school and its Headmaster at the beginning of their seventh and final year at Hogwarts. She had yet to even send a letter to the head of the academy asking for late admission. This type of procrastination was not like her, and that thought kept her constantly on edge about it.

Not to mention, the idea of Harry, Ron, and Neville being a year ahead of her made her feel even more apprehensive about the ordeal. She could never truly catch up to them, and that was something else that bothered her greatly. Her first big steps into the world of an adult, of a witch outside of Hogwarts, would not be tentative ones to test the water, but rushed, frantic ones to match her friends. She had only ever been second best to Harry a few years ago, and that was only in Defense Against the Dark Arts on their Ordinary Wizarding Level examinations. What if she was no longer on the same level as them?

Her stomach made an odd grumbling noise as she seated herself in a compartment with Ginny, Luna, and some of the other students. She was not hungry, though, and she knew that if she kept on fretting over her plans to become an Auror, then she would surely make herself ill.

Pushing all worries and thoughts from her mind, Hermione looked around the compartment. Ginny was seated next to her. Luna sat across from Ginny while the two of them played with a Pygmy Puff. Other Gryffindor students settled in around them, but none of them really paid any mind to Hermione.

Hermione had not fit in with the other students that year as well as she would have hoped. Of course, when she had first returned to Hogwarts to complete her seventh year, there had been some interest in her since she was older than her peers. Even so, that intrigue died out quickly. The fading infatuation and lack of friends did not deter or brother her in the slightest, though. She had had other things to worry about, like becoming top student all over again in a new group and refreshing herself on studies.

She prayed that her hard work had paid off.

Hermione slumped against the side of the compartment and gazed out the window as the others around her talked excitedly about the summer to come. Her eyes found the castle yet again as she felt the train lurch and heard the whistle blow once more. She felt an emptiness grow inside her as the train picked up speed and the mismatched stone castle fell out of view behind a bend.

Grabbing her bag, Hermione dug around for her revised copy of Hogwarts: A History. She needed something to take her mind off of the long, boring ride home so that she would not drive herself crazy with wondering how much longer it would be before she saw her other friends. And she saw no better way to occupy her time than to commit the revisions of the newly released book to her memory, just as she had with the whole of the previous copy.

"What about you, Granger?"

"Hmm?" Hermione muttered, looking up from her book and into the eyes of Jimmy Peakes, the Gryffindor Beater. He had taken to following Ginny around that year since she had become captain of the Quidditch team, so he was a familiar face to Hermione, though she still was not good friends with him.

"I asked what you were going to do now that you're done with Hogwarts," he repeated.

Heads turned in her direction as she closed her book lightly and looked at her hands resting atop the brown cover.

"I haven't really decided yet," she murmured.

"Haven't decided?" gasped Peakes.

"Relax, Jimmy," Ginny butt in.

"I'm sorry," he apologized quickly. "It's just that she's always studying, and she was top of your year. I figured she already knew what she wanted to do... especially since she is older--"

"Jimmy!" Ginny barked. She got more and more like her mother every single day.

"It's fine, Gin," Hermione spoke softly. She looked to Jimmy and then shrugged. His comment did not bother her because she knew that she had plans already, so it was not as bad as he made it sound. She just was not telling him or anyone else until she spoke with Harry and Ron about it. They would be devastated if they found out that she told others before she confessed to them.

"Hermione probably doesn't know because she's got a lot of choices," Ginny assured everyone in the compartment. "Isn't that right, Hermione?"

She opened her mouth with a confused look in place, so Ginny continued before anything more could be said by anyone else.

"That's what I thought," the red head said with conviction. "It's her business anyways. Personally, if I had been top of my year and best at everything, I would have had trouble picking, too."

"I'm not best at everything," Hermione denied modestly as she blushed a tender shade of pink.

"I heard that you received ten O's on your N.E.W.T.s," Luna Lovegood added in a tone that was caressed by soft, dreamy syllables.

"I don't know where you heard that," Hermione uttered, the blush on her cheeks deepening in shade. "I have to wait for my N.E.W.T. scores to come out in a week just like everyone else."

"I'm fearful of my scores," Ginny confessed. "Mum will surely kill me because I don't think I did very good at Potions... It never was my strong point, though. Of course, that might be the least of my worries."

"Yeah, especially since your mum doesn't know you've been talking with the head coach of the Holyhead Harpies," Jimmy presented, earning him a sharp look from the Weasley girl.

"Don't just fling that out there like it's common knowledge, Peakes," she rebuked. "I want to be the one to break the news to everyone myself."

Hermione sat listening for a moment longer as the conversation continued. When she felt that she was safely out of the loop of talk when things turned to Quidditch, she reopened her book and settled comfortably into her seat.

The fields, marshes, and thickets of the countryside were blurring by outside the window, but she had a feeling that it would be a long while before platform Nine and Three-Quarters came into view.

* * *

He leaned against the dumpster in the London alleyway, a permanent snarl marring his aristocratic, but dirty face. His hair was mangled and wild and his stomach growled loudly as he sat on his haunches. He had just barely escaped a brush with some Ministry workers and his breath was still rapid and uncontrolled from the small chase. Surely if he had not Apparated to this deserted alleyway, then they would have caught him, and he would be looking at the inside of an Azkaban cell instead.

He stood, his body protesting the movement. The running had nearly killed him and his screaming muscles were proof of that. His heart thudded so loudly that he could hear the blood rushing in his ears. The noise made him dizzy and the lack of food that he had had lately was not helping this factor.

He clutched a stitch in his side, stretching so that it would work itself out. As he did, something in his ratty, soiled jacket crinkled. He reached inside the long coat and pulled out some folded newspaper articles.

They were beginning to turn yellow at the corners, or what was left of the corners. The date below each title was over a year old and most had a lively, celebratory picture on it. Others had pictures of Hogwarts after the battle with Voldemort. Sheets littered the front lawn, covering the bodies that were laid to waste from the fighting. Rubble from the damage done to the castle scattered the area as well. It looked like a haunted graveyard.

He grimaced as he imagined his uncle's lifeless form under one of those sheets, inside the walls of the battered castle. His hands clenched into fists, tearing the article a bit as he began to shake with rage.

He dropped down onto a wooden crate, which creaked and dispelled a rat from its putrid depths. He glared at it as the repulsive creature paused to shove something into its mouth and wash its whiskers. His attention returned to the articles in his hand, the next showing a large group in front of the abused castle.

Among that group was the light side's saint and savior, Potter. Next to him was the Minister, Kingsley Shacklebolt, and surrounding them were Potter's annoying friends: the blood-traitors that were the Weasley family, the all-too troublesome Neville Longbottom, and the most horrible Mudblood to ever be admitted to the wizarding world, Hermione Granger.

He gnashed his teeth together, his lip twitching with his disapproving mask. His anger was bubbling up to a dangerous level and his face was growing hot.

Then, without so much as a warning, his foot shot out and stamped down on the tail of the rat. A loud squeal filled the emptiness of the alley, and he chuckled darkly.

The rat turned around and latched on to his shoe, gnawing at the dragon hide boot in an attempt to free its tail. Another violent and panicked squeak erupted from the small rodent, so he picked it up by the scruff of its neck. When he released the rat's tail, the rodent curled it up around its lower body and lashed about in the air.

"You, Hermione Granger," he growled in a rough, craggy voice, "will be as a rat in my grasp. You will squirm and writhe and beg for your freedom... beg for me to spare you."

He squeezed his fist tighter, pulling the fur and skin of the rat so that it tensed and froze in the air in front of his face. Small, black beady eyes watered and stared unblinkingly into his own crazed, gray-blue eyes.

"You will suffer, Hermione Granger," he grumbled through gritted teeth. "I will see you pour out blood, sweat, and tears until your body dies up for the pain that you have caused me."

He pulled out his wand then, poking it into the gut of the rat and making it kick for a second before he uttered two fateful words.

"Avada Kedavra!"

The rat twitched before its body froze painfully for a moment with constricting torture. Then it fell limp in his hand, and he sneered with sickening pleasure.

Tossing the rodent into the nearby dumpster, he strolled out into the street and glanced at the entrance to King's Cross Station. He knew that Hermione Granger would be arriving soon, and when she did, he would be waiting for her.

* * *

"Harry! Ron!" Hermione screamed with delight. She ran towards the boys, abandoning her trunk trolley, and flinging herself on them. She buried her face in Harry's neck and tried to calm her excited heartbeat as she squeezed them both close to her.

"It's nice to see you, too, Hermione," Ron croaked, pulling away from her as best he could. She had begun to cut off his air supply, making his face match his hair color.

She released them both and beamed brightly at her two best friends. She was so overjoyed to see them that she could not bring herself to speak even a word of greeting.

"Hello, Hermione, dear," Mrs. Weasley said warmly as she approached with George in tow.

"Mrs. Weasley. George," Hermione returned, allowing her attention to be stolen by the older witch.

"It's so nice to be back."

"But I thought you liked Hogwarts. I thought that's why you returned," Ron butt in.

"Well, I do... I mean, I did. I wanted to finish my education properly," she explained. "But it's still nice to see everyone again." She looked around and noticed that Harry was missing from their ranks.

She glanced about and then spotted him a ways off with Ginny. They were saying farewell to some of Ginny's friends, although Harry seemed too absorbed in the red head he was holding hands with to be paying attention to much of anything.

Hermione was relieved to see such a light-hearted look on his face. Only a year ago he had been stressed and constantly distraught. Before Hermione could ensure that he was properly well, he, Ron, and Neville had went off to Auror Academy at the request of the Minister. Now that she saw him again, she knew she had nothing to worry about. Nothing except herself that was.

"Let's not stand about all day, then," Molly advised. "I've got a dinner to get on the table before your father gets home. Come on, Ginny! Harry!"

Hermione turned to retrieve her cart and found Ron already pushing it through the barrier to King's Cross Station. She jogged after him, bounding through the barrier and bumping into someone.

"Oh, sorry, Ron! What did you stop for?" she asked as she righted herself and looked around. That was when she noticed that she was not talking to Ron.

A tall, homeless-looking man stood before her. His expression was frightening as he gazed at her. It was as though he were frenzied and delirious, and Hermione's accident had pushed him over the edge of madness.

"I-I'm s-sor-so-sorry," she fumbled as she backed away from him.

Every muscle in his body remained tightened as his gray-blue eyes followed her movements.

She turned to look around for Ron and spotted Harry and Ginny coming through the barrier. They were getting further away from her, and she did not want to be left alone another moment with this man. Hermione turned and jogged towards them, making it to Ginny's side before she glanced back over her shoulder. The man was gone, however.

Her skin crawled with the memory of the look he had given her. It was as though he had wanted her to drop dead on the spot. With a shiver, she shook her head and rattled the image from her brain. It was just a slight run-in with a stranger. She had other, more imminent things to worry about than some man who she had angered in the train station. She would probably never see him again.


	2. Cold Heart

_**Author's Note:**_ I must first toss out a notice that I forgot to post in the Author's Note of the last chapter: This is an Alternate Universe fic; some of the events in this story are non-compliant with events from the fourth book as well as book seven of the Harry Potter series. Now, with that said, I would like to thank those who did read and review the last chapter: _xXTwilight PrincessXx, Vera-Sabe, jasmine-leigh, Charmanth, Dramione-Fan 17, pottersgirl91, Rin1507, ChamberlinofMusic, PapayaCrazy, _and _CT1994_. Your time and dedication to reading is greatly appreciate. And lastly, one more thing before I leave you to read the second chapter: I will be posting every other day from now until December 25th. Wondering why? In celebration of the twelve days of Christmas, of course! Now, enjoy....

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**Chapter 2 – Cold Heart**

He turned and looked back at the train station with a wild hatred twisting and pulsing in his stomach.

She had touched him. The Mudblood had touched him.

He felt bile rise in his throat, and he moved to a nearby waste bin on a side street. His stomach clenched and his breath came in gasps.

He could still see her expression when she realized that she had ran into him. Her eyes had been wide with shock and judgment. But who was she to judge him? She was filth, and if it were not for her and her self-righteous friends, then he would be the next best thing to royalty. She had ruined that all, though.

Hermione Granger had looked at him as though he were not fit to walk on the same street as her. Her eyes had told him everything. She had been truly repulsed by him. She had no right to be, though.

If anyone should have been sickened by the accidental contact between them, it should have been him. He was pureblooded; she was not. He had been rich and high-class once; she had never been.

His fingers gripped the sides of the metal trash container as he grit his teeth and wondered just who she thought she was. He snarled and ripped the trash can from where it sat, scattering trash everywhere as he threw it into the street.

The loud bang of metal hitting pavement made the passersby look at him in alarm and disgust.

"Say, fellow... what are you getting at?" an average-looking man in a yellow jumper scolded. "I'm talking to you," the man announced when the crazed, gray-blue eyed man said nothing in return. "Are you mental?"

Without so much as a care, the gray-blue eyed man straightened and glared down his nose at the individual addressing him. He spat in his direction before turning to walk away.

"You need to clean this rubbish up!" shouted the elderly Muggle in the yellow jumper.

By now, more people were gathering and pointing at the crazy person with bluish eyes who had tossed the metal can into the street. They were whispering excitedly, waiting to see how he would react to the authoritative gentleman that was now barking profanities and threats at him.

"If you don't pick this mess up, I'll call the authorities!"

A careless chuckle erupted from in the disturbed man's throat before he turned to walk away. As he rounded the corner back to the train station, he paused and looked back over his shoulder. The man in the yellow jumper that had so boldly challenged him was getting into a beat-up, faded red Austin Mini. He was no doubt going to alert the London police of the disturbance that had just occurred. And the gray-blue eyed stranger would be sure that the nosy man never mettled in anyone's business again. After he took care of that, it would be on to Hermione Granger.

* * *

Hermione tossed the lid to her trunk open at the foot of her bed. She began unpacking her Hogwarts materials. Books, broken quills, ink wells, robes, potion sets, candy, and ingredients that had spilled on the bottom of the trunk. She would have to thank the ever careless Ron for that one later.

"Scourgify," she muttered, waving her wand at the mess.

"Hermione."

She turned to look at her mother, who was holding a shaking cage at arm's length.

"Oh, thank you," Hermione said hurriedly. She rushed to her mother and took Crookshanks from his cage. She tried to cuddle him, but he hissed and leaped from her arms to stalk to a distant corner of the room.

"Anything you need, dear?" asked Mrs. Granger as she eyed the disgruntled cat apprehensively from the corner of her eye.

"No, not right now, Mom," Hermione sighed contentedly. "I'm just going to unpack and relax for a bit."

"All right, then," Mrs. Granger beamed, reaching out to stroke her daughter's large, wild curls in a fond gesture. "Your father and I are so happy to have you home," she added.

"I'm happy to be home," Hermione replied, guilt twisting in the pit of her stomach. How was she going to tell her mother that she would be leaving for Auror Academy in two weeks? That she would be attending another school where she would be gone mostly the whole year for the next three years?

"I'll leave you to finish unpacking, okay?" Mrs. Granger said nervously, eyeing Crookshanks who was now raking his claws across one of Hermione's old stuffed animals. "Is he going to be all right?"

"The train ride just has him shook up, that's all," Hermione tried to assure her mother, who had never fully gotten used to the surly feline.

"I have no idea what we are going to do with him now that you will be home more often, though," Mrs. Granger muttered, more to herself than to Hermione. "Your father has terrible allergies to animals."

"I'll see if Ginny or Mrs. Weasley might take care of him," Hermione offered. She hated to shove her responsibilities off on someone else, but the Auror Academy did not allow any animals except owls, and those had to be kept in the owlery barn with the academy's owls. "If not, he can be kept outside. He rather likes it out there, in fact. He hunts on his own, and he liked it just fine at Hogwarts."

"Be sure to ask them that tonight, won't you?" Mrs. Granger prompted.

"Tonight?" Hermione repeated.

"Oh!" Mrs. Granger looked momentarily annoyed with herself before sighing and explaining. "I invited the Weasleys and Harry over for a surprise dinner. We were going to celebrate your graduation from Hogwarts, but now that the cat's out of the bag..." Crookshanks hissed, as if on cue, and Mrs. Granger's attention swiveled quickly back to the irritated mass of orange fur. "Just a figure of speech, of course," she added quickly.

Hermione snickered and gave Crookshanks a warning, but loving glance as Mrs. Granger left the room, pulling the door shut behind her. Hermione had a feeling that this was to keep the cat inside her room rather than to give her privacy, but she would take the solitude either way.

Dropping onto her bed, Hermione heaved a sigh. She would have to tell everyone tonight, while she had them all in the same room and in good spirits. She would be sure, however, to wait until the last possible minute. She did not want to ruin her mother's supposed-to-be surprise dinner.

Rolling over, Hermione rubbed the tips of her thumb and forefinger together to call her cat to her. He growled from deep in his chest and slunk across the room to hide under her wardrobe; he still was not happy.

"If that is a prelude to what tonight will be like after I tell everyone, then I might just join you down there," she sighed as she grabbed a pillow and hugged it to her chest.

Her stomach rolled and twisted as she pondered what to say tonight. How would she break it to them? Should she just drop a hint lightly in conversation, or should she make it like a formal announcement? Whatever she did, she needed to figure it out soon.

* * *

"Hermione!" Mr. Granger bellowed up the stairs. "Our guests are here! Are you not ready yet?"

"We'll go up and get her, Mr. Granger," Ginny insisted as she pulled Harry along with her.

They trudged up the steps, Ginny leading the way as she tugged on Harry's hand. She took long strides down the hallway, almost colliding with Hermione as she came out of her room.

"Oh!"

"There you are," Ginny grinned. "C'mon! Mum and Dad have a graduation gift for you, and I want to see you open it because Ron is burnt about you getting one."

"Why?" Hermione asked, frowning visibly. She did not need Ron mad at her before he even saw her tonight.

"Because he didn't get one," Ginny explained.

"But he did not properly graduate either," Hermione retaliated in a matter-of-fact manner. She was immensely proud of the fact that she went back to Hogwarts and finished up her seventh year the way all students were meant to.

"I told him that," Ginny shrugged, fiddling with Harry's hand.

"We even tried reasoning with him about the fact that Fred and George didn't get graduation gifts either because they didn't finish," Harry supplied.

"He'll get over it once it's time to eat," Ginny rebounded, a smile coming back to her face.

"So," Hermione sighed, "have you told yet?"

Ginny seemed puzzled for a moment and then realization lit her face.

"I've only told Harry," she confessed. "I'm trying to wait to tell Mum until I leave for the first of my practices."

"Are you sure that it is smart for you to do that?" Hermione inquired as they made their way down the stairs.

"I think it will be best," Ginny replied, jumping the last two steps. "If I'm not there everyday to remind her, then she'll get over it faster... At least that's what happened when Fred and George opened their joke shop."

"Speaking of George," Hermione mentioned as she looked around, "where is he?"

"He says he's working in the joke shop," Ron piped up from behind her.

"But really," Ginny began with a contagious grin.

"We think he's out on a date with Angelina," Ron finished, glowering at his younger sister for interrupting him.

"Angelina Johnson?" Harry spoke up for the first time since they had been upstairs. "Gryffindor's Quidditch Captain from our fifth year?"

"The same," Ron nodded.

"She took it pretty hard when she found out about Fred," Ginny announced, sadness creeping into her voice.

Harry put his arms around her waist and pulled her tight against him. She rested her head on his shoulder for a moment and sighed.

Hermione looked to Ron who seemed to be thoughtfully inspecting his shoes, but upon closer evaluation, she noticed the faraway look in his eyes. The entire Weasley family was still touchy about the loss of one of their most upbeat, fun-loving, and devious members.

"They just sort of bumped into each other one day in the shop," Ron murmured without even moving his lips.

"Later that night, they met again at a party and then spent the whole night reminiscing," Ginny finished for him in a small, distant voice, "about Fred."

Hermione's nose began to sting and tingle and her throat was growing raw and sore.

"I think that it's good that they're together, though," Ginny conceded on a heartfelt exhale. "It will help them heal."

No one spoke another word for a few moments and then Mrs. Granger called from the kitchen.

"Dinner will be ready in five minutes," she declared, unseen around the wall that separated the living room and kitchen. "I hope you all will enjoy this new recipe I got from the neighbors."

"Ron enjoys anything that doesn't try to eat him first," Ginny snickered, lightening the mood once again.

Her brother glared at her for the second time that night before shuffling off into the kitchen to await supper. The others followed, crowding in the kitchen doorway to watch Mrs. Weasley set the table—by magic, of course—while a nervous Mrs. Granger's eyes darted between her flying dinner plates and her almost-finished cooking.

* * *

He watched as the faded red Austin Mini pulled up to the curb, maneuvering into an empty place before its headlights shut off. The driver got out, slamming the door, and shifting a grocery bag in his arm as he jingled his keys around.

"Hello, Mr. Alden," whispered the man around the corner, much too low for the Austin Mini's driver to hear.

Mr. Alden was digging in his mailbox as he jammed his key in the door and juggled his grocery bag. Glass bottles clinked inside the bag as he retracted his hand from the mailbox with nothing. He shrugged and jiggled the door handle before pushing it open.

The man around the corner narrowed his eyes, a sinister smirk curling his lips at one corner. He tossed Mr. Alden's mail into a nearby rubbish bin and walked carelessly up the stairs to Alden's front door. Without so much as a second thought, he pulled out a wand and pointed it at the door. After muttering words much too low for anyone to hear, a light shot from the end of his wand into the key slot on the door handle.

A click sounded softly from the other side of the door, and he turned the handle. Peering into the crack, he saw a flashing light illuminating the first half of the hallway. Further down, a dim, yellow light crept into the hallway along with the sounds of clinking bottles and grunts.

The gray-blue eyed man pushed the door open and walked noiselessly down the corridor. He paused in the kitchen doorway and watched Mr. Alden as he bent over into the fridge and began shuffling around inside it. Glass clinked while Alden grumbled about something. He stood a second later with a beer in his hand. After swigging down a large gulp, Alden shut the refrigerator carelessly and turned to leave the kitchen.

The bottle slipped from his hand and crashed on the aged, cracking linoleum tile. He gaped at the stranger standing in his doorway for a moment before his expression changed to one of outrage.

"You're that nutter from earlier today!" he snarled. "The one who made a ruckus on the sidewalk."

The stranger tilted his head slightly to the side and narrowed his eyes on Mr. Alden, seemingly gaging the disgruntled older man.

"What do you think you're getting at by breaking into my home? I ought to call the authorities on you right now," Alden threatened. "I alerted them earlier today on my way to work that you were mad as a hatter and loose on the streets. They would just love to hear that I have you here in my home for them to arrest."

"Is that so?"

"Yeah!" Alden challenged, straightening up and swelling out his chest in an attempt to appear brave and unafraid.

"Do you really think Muggles can contain me? That they could even get close to me?"

"Muggles?" Mr. Alden repeated, sounding perplexed. "What do you mean by 'Muggles'?"

"Your so-called authorities," the stranger replied as he began twirling a long wooden stick between his fingers like a baton. "They're nothing to me... nothing but filthy, rotten _Muggles_!"

"You're madder than I imagined," Alden muttered, his hand moving across the kitchen island for a container of cooking utensils. He thought that if he could just reach a knife or some other sharp object, he could threaten the man into leaving and then get to the phone to call the London police.

"You have no bloody idea," the stranger laughed darkly. He gripped the stick then, pointing it at Alden in a menacing manner, but Alden did not feel endangered.

"What do you think you're going to do with that?"

The fact that the intruder was pointing a harmless stick at him would have been amusing had Alden not been angered by the fact that this man had broken into his home and made him waste a perfectly good beer.

"I'm going to kill you," the trespasser answered calmly. "Would you like to start begging for your life now? Or do you need further convincing that you won't survive this encounter?"

"I don't fear you or your ridiculous little twi-"

"_Crucio!_" the stranger barked.

The stick that Alden had thought to be a harmless twig lit up at the tip. A bolt of light whizzed across the room and hit him square in the stomach. He doubled over and dropped to his knees in the broken glass and spilled beer. A scream escaped Alden's lips, but not because of the glass now embedded in his knees and shins.

Fire was burning in every muscle of Alden's body. He felt as though his skin was being ripped and stretched and burned. His head felt as though he had an awful hangover, and he was starting to sweat and feel nauseous. He was spinning now—or at least his head felt as though it was—and he felt like he was going to pass out soon when the pain finally lifted.

Alden dropped forward onto the kitchen floor, beer splattering and glass cutting into the front of his body. His chin stung from the cut there, as did the rest of his wounds, but those were minor compared to the throbbing pain throughout his body. Whatever the intruder had done was not something Alden cared to relive. In fact, he prayed that the man would either kill him or that he would pass out so that he did not have to continue to suffer.

Glass crunched under the feet of the stranger as he came further into the kitchen. The floor creaked as the man crouched and spoke gruffly to Alden.

"Do you fear me now?" He paused, poking his wand into Alden's spine and twisting it like a drill.

"You should... I'll show you no pity because I have nothing but a cold heart."


	3. A Change of Direction

**_Author's Note:_** I'll make this quick because today has me feeling vexed. Thanks to: _pottersgirl91, Dramione-Fan 17, Rin1507, Charmanth, CT1994, _and _ChamberlinofMusic._ Your time spent reading and reviewing is immensely appreciated!

* * *

**Chapter 3 – A Change of Direction**

Hermione glanced around the table. Dessert was now over (for everyone except Ron, who was still shoveling down pecan pie), which meant that dinner was almost over as well. Her prefect opportunity to tell everyone that she had changed her path in life was drawing to a close. She needed to seize the moment and do so quickly.

"A marvelously delicious meal, wouldn't you say?" Mr. Weasley commented, looking for approval from those around the Grangers' kitchen table.

"I agree," Molly chimed in. "You'll have to give me some of your recipes," she added to Mrs. Granger.

"So, who's up for a game of Exploding Snap in the living room?" Mr. Weasley grinned. Mr. and Mrs. Granger looked slightly nervous at the word 'exploding', so Mrs. Weasley suggested something else.

"Hermione mentioned that you enjoyed watching Ron and Harry play wizard's chess," she spoke to Mr. Granger. "Maybe you would like to engage in a match with Arthur while we clean the kitchen?" she suggested as she looked to Hermione's mother.

"You really do not need to concern yourself with helping me clean up," Mrs. Granger gushed quickly, although Hermione knew this was more out of fear for magic than politeness.

She really wished that her parents would calm their apprehensiveness towards all things magical. Surely they should have been used to it by now, what with her having been a part of the wizarding world for eight years now.

"I will help her later tonight, Mrs. Weasley," Hermione assured the red-haired woman beside her. "Right now, however, I would appreciate it if I could have everyone's attention... I have an announcement to make. A very important one, in fact."

Arthur paused in the act of scooting away from the table, and Ron stopped with the last bite of his pie only an inch from his open mouth. Mrs. Weasley looked to Hermione with undivided attention as Ginny grasped Harry's hand and looked to her friend with encouraging eyes.

"What is it, Hermione, dear?" Mrs. Granger inquired as she glanced between her husband and her daughter, genuine curiosity alight in her eyes.

"It's about my future," Hermione fumbled, her face growing hot.

She pushed her chair back from the table and folded her hands in her lap. Bowing her head, she watched her fingers twine and release as butterflies fought inside her stomach. She just needed to say it and get it over with, but she could not find the right words. Her mouth had suddenly gone dry.

Harry leaned forward on the table as Ron began lowering his fork.

"What is it, Hermione?" the red-headed boy asked while wiping his mouth.

"I have decided that I am not going to work for the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures," she began, still not making eye contact with any of them. "Instead, I'm going to... going to..."

"Going to what, Hermione?" Harry quizzed, his voice soft and coaxing.

Hermione raised her head, but did not lift her eyes from her lap. She was concentrating on the pattern sewn into the corner of the napkin in her lap.

"I am going to join you and Ron and Neville at Auror Academy," she declared strongly a moment later.

When no one spoke for a couple of seconds, she felt that she could no longer bear the suspense and looked up to each of them. Her parents appeared bewildered, of course, they had no idea what her statement meant. Ginny and Mr. Weasley seemed supportive, both smiling in a calm manner. Harry looked slightly taken aback, but non-objective all the same. Ron, on the other hand, had gone red in the face.

He was opening his mouth to protest when his mother cut him off.

"Are you sure that's what you want, dear?" Mrs. Weasley questioned quietly beside the brown-haired girl she thought of as a second daughter.

Hermione turned her gaze to the woman she knew as her second mother and could only bring herself to nod.

"You're just doing this to copy Harry and I!" Ron burst out, his face still livid.

"I am not!" Hermione denied quickly in an innocent tone. "I was offered a position by Minister Shacklebolt at the same time that you, Harry, and Neville were, but I turned it down to return to Hogwarts. If I had wanted to copy the two of you, I would have accepted the Minister's offer then."

"You just can't stand the fact that Harry and I might be showing you up at something!" Ron roared.

"Ronald Weasley," his mother snapped sharply, but he did not even let his glaring eyes flicker to her for a fraction of a second. "You are a guest in this home, so stop raising your voice."

She was looking dangerous now and her tone was low and warning to match her expression. Nonetheless, he still ignored her.

"You just have to come tagging along to the academy and prove that you can get better marks than us, don't you?" Ron accused.

"That is not it, Ronald," Hermione barked, growing angry as well with all his lack of support and hateful comments. "I want to do something more direct to aid the war relief. I do not think that working for the Magical Creatures Department is going to help enough."

"What happened to all your barking about elf rights, hmm?"

"Most of the wizards who have elves were Death Eaters, and they are either jailed or on the run now, so they are no longer really in any immediate danger. Besides, how can we make the world better for them if our world is still in turmoil itself?" she snarled.

Her parents were looking shocked as Harry tried to grab Ron's arm when he shot out of his seat to bear down on Hermione, who was across the table from him. Ron shrugged his bespectacled friend off and pressed his fists against the table.

"Arthur," Molly growled, "control your son."

"Ronald," Mr. Weasley began, but his son continued ignoring everyone except the brown-eyed girl across the table from him, who was the source of all his frustration at the moment.

"You haven't even applied yet, so how do you expect to join us? Or have you been planning this all along?"

"No, I have not applied yet. I was waiting to tell everyone and gain their support first, but you--"

"They won't accept you so late, so what are you going to do now? Are you just going to sit here and wait until next year? Waste your time and be miserable? Complain to us for a whole year about being useless?" he yelled, gesturing to himself and Harry on his last question.

"I am sure that the academy will accept me when they see my grades; they need all the help they can get," she retaliated, glaring daggers up at him.

He laughed in mock amusement, incredulous at her remark.

"You think your grades can get you everything, don't you? Well, this isn't Hogwarts anymore, Hermione. You're not a prefect who can get special treatment. This is the real world!"

"I know that, Ronald," she bellowed, making her parents flinch as she stood quickly, toppling her chair. "And I never asked for special treatment when I was a prefect anyways!"

"Then I suppose you plan on using Harry and I as leverage to get into the school, huh?"

If she had been angry before, she was beyond outraged now. How dare he throw something like that in her face! She was not trying to use them at all. Instead, she was trying to be loyal and supportive and stand alongside them in the relief effort, just as she had tried to explain to him earlier.

"You are the one who used your friend's fame to get you things, Ron," she reminded him in a low, cruel voice. "You still seem to be clinging to the limelight of Harry's successes even now that you are out of Hogwarts, so do _not_ accuse me of such things."

His jaw dropped as though she had punched him in the gut. He huffed as she turned and moved swiftly from the kitchen into the living room. Her wrathful footsteps could be heard as she stormed up the steps to her room. Everyone but Ron and Ginny winced as they heard her slam her bedroom door.

With another growl-like snarl from deep in his throat, Ron wrenched open the Grangers' back door and walked out into the night as Ginny glared after him.

"My apologies," Mrs. Weasley hurriedly spoke. "Arthur, go get him and make him come back and apologize as well," Molly added in an undertone.

"Just let them cool down," Mr. Granger advised, looking to the ceiling and then glancing worriedly at his wife.

* * *

The gray-blue eyed man sat in the wrecked living room of Mr. Alden's home.

The floor lamp lay toppled and flickering; its shade cracked and crumpled. The fluttering of the light made the stranger look even more frightening as it dimly lit his face one moment and then left him in the dark the next. His eyes were distant and his hands were clasped together beneath his chin as he observed his destruction without a care.

Alden's legs were visible in the hallway where he lay motionless. The rug beneath him was rumpled and stained with mud, ashes, and blood. A trail of demolition, which was evidence of the struggle between Alden and the intruder, flowed haphazardly through the small, one story apartment.

The stranger smirked ruthlessly at the thought of how he had tortured Alden. How he had watched the man struggle to get to the phone on the kitchen wall after lifting his aching body from the floor and crawling through broken glass. The stranger did not allow Alden to get away that easily, though. Instead, he had ripped the phone, cord and all, from the wall and threw it into the open refrigerator, which he had slammed shut as he chuckled darkly.

He could have finished Alden when he had been laying on the floor in a puddle of beer and broken glass, but he had wanted to have some fun with this one. A swift death would not have taught him a proper lesson about sticking his nose where it did not belong.

The gray-blue eyed man rolled his head in a circular motion, cracking his neck in an obnoxious fashion. The sound made his sickening smile return as it reminded him of the way Alden's legs had snapped with a wave of the intruder's wand. He cracked his knuckles, relishing in the sound once more before he rose from the chair to stalk out into the kitchen.

He stepped on Alden's fingers as he went, crunching the bones beneath his dragon hide boots. He tossed a casual glance over his shoulder at Mr. Alden and his horrified, wide-eyed expression, which was frozen in place. The intruder felt a triumphant wave rush through him before he walked leisurely into the kitchen.

He opened the fridge and pulled out one of the beers while glancing over the moldy leftovers, spilled containers, discarded phone, and general mess. His stomach growled, and he shut the door with annoyance.

He had been hungry for days now, but he had not had time to stop to eat because he had been constantly on the run. Running every single day and night as Aurors and Ministry workers got closer and closer to him. The very thought made him grind his teeth together as his knuckles went white with the grip he kept on the refrigerator door handle.

Had it not been for Hermione Granger, he would be sitting in his uncle's mansion. House-elves would be falling all over themselves to wait on his every beck and whim. He would certainly not be hungry, and he would not be in the sorry state that he was in now.

Shaking his head furiously, he stormed back across the kitchen, grounding the glass on the floor into the linoleum tile. He stepped over Alden without a second glance and went directly to the front door. The stranger grabbed the doorknob roughly, jerking the door open, and stepping into the cool night air. He had other things to do and other places to be.

He left the door open as he started down the sidewalk, a beer in his hand, and a satisfying wreckage in the house behind him. He would relish seeing the crime scene photos in tomorrow's London paper.

* * *

Hermione sat at her desk. The lights in her room were all off, but her head was still pounding. She blamed Ron entirely for the way that she felt right now.

She had hoped that he and Harry would be supportive of her change in career path. She had not seen them properly for a year, so she thought that they might have been happy to find out that she would be joining them at the Auror Academy. Then again, she knew Ron, and she should have known that he would not take something like this lightly. He was a jealous being after all.

"Hermione?"

She turned slightly in her chair, looking over her shoulder at the sliver of light that crept into her room from the hallway. It was Harry, and he was peering in the door through a small crack, obliviously trying to be cautious.

"May I come in?"

"Sure," she sighed, shoving away from the desk so that he could take a seat there.

She walked across the room and felt the angry ball in her chest throb as she dropped down onto her bed. Snatching up a pillow, she hugged it to her chest and willed the ball to loosen. However, it only swelled and began pressing on her throat.

Harry bypassed the chair at the desk and walked over to sit on the bed next to her. He put a hand on her shoulder and rubbed in a soothing manner as he looked at her.

Hermione pressed her mouth into the pillow to try and cover up the change in her breathing. She was suffocating under the constricting pressure of pent up frustration.

"You can't listen to him, you know," Harry said. "He's always going to disapprove of you doing what he does."

"I know," she mumbled through the pillow. "But it still hurts... Ever since our first year, it has been like he is afraid of me showing him up or stealing attention. That is not what I mean to do an--"

"I know, I know," Harry soothed, holding up his hands in surrender. He did not want to argue with her. "He has missed you, though... you know that, right? We both have."

She glanced at him out of the corner of her eye and felt the sting of tears in her nose, eyes, and ears. He smiled encouragingly and rubbed her back some more.

"I think what you are doing is great," he shrugged. "It's your life, Hermione. You need to live it as you see fit... but don't let the fear of being alone or losing your friends push your hand."

"It is not that," Hermione stated in a strong voice. "I am not following you two like Ron thinks, and I sincerely hope you do not think the same."

"No, I don't."

"I just do not want to be useless. I want to make a difference, and I feel that I can make the most difference by being a help to my friends and a help to justice."

"House-elves can wait a few more years, huh?" he joked.

"I still plan on trying to help them as well. I am not putting aside one dream to go off on a tangent, I promise you that," she uttered softly, but still with conviction. "I just think that this is going to be a better start than what I had originally planned. When I am no longer needed as an Auror—and if I do a good job as one—then I can seek out a transfer and work from there."

"And you know that I support you no matter what you do, right?" Harry smiled, leaning his forehead towards hers and peering over his glasses at her.

She could not help but smile. Tears welled as she let go of the pillow with one arm and clung to his neck. She buried her face in his shoulder as he continued to draw circles between her shoulder blades with his palm. He would forever be like a brother to her; compassionate and supportive with the perfect advise as well as encouraging with the occasional disagreement, of course.

"Thank you," she muttered into his collar.

"Any time," he whispered into her hair before giving her an especially tight squeeze. "But you had better do something quick if you do plan on going through with this and joining us at the academy," he added when she released him.

"Believe me, I will," she vowed as he stood and shoved his hands in his pockets.

"Well, it sounds like they're leaving," he said, referring to the Weasleys, who were now gathering at the front door and saying their goodbyes as well as apologies from Molly. "I don't know if Ron's mum will ever stop telling your parents that she's sorry for Ron's behavior," he chuckled.

"They will forgive him so long as I do," Hermione shrugged, feeling indifferent and cold at the mention of their friend's name. "Right now, though, I am not so sure I am ready to forgive him. Maybe in a week or two."

Harry laughed, which turned into a yawn soon after.

"I better go join them," he sighed.

"Oh, Harry?"

"Hmm?"

"Can I borrow Azariel?" Hermione asked, referring to the new snowy owl that she, Ron, and Ginny had bought Harry. "I'll be needing a way to contact the wizarding world... and quickly at that."

"Sure thing," Harry nodded. "I'll send her over tomorrow. Should I have Ron include his apology letter?" Again, he laughed. He had missed their quarreling while the three of them were apart, which was something that surprised him.

"I'd only throw it away," Hermione grumbled, "so do not even waste the parchment."

Harry nodded, a smile practically stretching from ear to ear. He knew that she was serious; she would throw away any letter addressed from Ron. Maybe Harry would make nice and put his name on the outside of the letter. Then again, he did not need Hermione upset with him as well, so he would either leave the letter blank or do as she said and not send it at all.

Hermione rose and gave him one last hug before he shuffled out of the room, taking her goodbye wishes downstairs to the others.


	4. Support

**_Author's Note:_** A cookie of their choice and a thank you to each one of these magnificent people: _ChamberlinofMusic, Charmanth, Rin1507, pottersgirl91, Dramione-Fan 17, Vera-Sabe, _and _CT1994._ Your precious time spent reading and reviewing is deeply cherished, as always. Now... the chapter....

* * *

**Chapter 4 – Support**

Hermione was frazzled and her eyes were burning. She had not slept well the night before. In fact, she had barely slept at all. When she had, her dreams had been plagued with letters of rejection and angry shouts from not only Ron, but her parents and Mrs. Weasley. The shamed faces of Harry and Ginny still flashed behind her eyelids like a bad playback of her dreams. She huffed and shoved away from the desk, only to jump half out of her skin when there was a peck on her window.

When Hermione finally had her heart rate back under control a second later, she opened up the window and let Azariel in. The owl hopped from the outside ledge to the inside sill and stuck out her leg. Hermione took the letter tentatively, wondering if she would want to open it at all. She had warned Harry not to let Ron include some sniveling excuse for an apology letter. Nonetheless, she gave her bespectacled friend the benefit of the doubt and unrolled the piece of parchment.

_Hermione,_

_Good luck on your acceptance letter from everyone here at the Burrow!_

_Harry_

She tossed the letter onto her desk, which was littered with scrapped attempts at letters to the Headmaster of the Auror Academy.

She had a feeling that not everyone at the Burrow wished her luck. The thought of Ron sitting smugly at the breakfast table while Mrs. Weasley continued her scolding from the night before was still not enough to quell the choler that Hermione felt for the boy who was once the object of her affection. She had no idea how she had ever felt love for him because she could barely even manage a likable feeling at the moment.

She snatched up her quill and turned back to the letter she had just begun. Tapping her feathered utensil against the inkwell, she began running greetings through her head once more. The ire of Ron and his behavior dissipated at once as she felt worry sink into its place. Should she be formal and explain her situation in the greeting? Or should she keep the greeting short and just jump right to asking for acceptance with only a mention of her credentials?

Her stomach roiled with the idea of what the Headmaster would think when he—or she—read her letter. Would they scoff and toss her attempt at asking for acceptance into the rubbish bin? Or would they write a nasty return letter telling her that she was sadly mistaken in thinking that they would even consider her request? All the uncertainty of it made her feel slightly sick and the nerves that she had jumping around inside her were beginning to make her shake.

Just then, her mother opened the door and came in carrying breakfast on a tray. Hermione jumped and toppled her inkwell, splattering her newest letter and her pajama pants.

"Oh! Sorry, dear," Mrs. Granger sighed as she sat the tray on the bed and began soaking up ink off the desk with her dishtowel.

"It will be all right, Mom," Hermione waved, pulling out her wand and pointing it at the stain now seeping into the carpet. Within seconds, it was as though the incident had never happened.

"I may never get used to magic," Mrs. Granger said while shaking her head in admiration, "but it does seem to come in handy, hmm?"

Hermione smiled faintly as her mother cleared the desk of papers, quills, and the empty inkwell. She placed the breakfast tray in their place and turned back to her daughter.

"Eat some breakfast; it'll help you think," Mrs. Granger advised as she ran a hand over her daughter's tasseled hair before leaving the room.

Hermione glanced at the tray; she was not feeling the least bit hungry. She would, however, try just to keep her mother happy. Besides, maybe a small break for some food and a shower would help her to relieve stress and get a start on a suitable letter to the Headmaster of the academy.

* * *

The gray-blue eyed man sat in the shadows of the London Underground, his eyes scanning the passengers as they rushed on and off the subway. He was struggling to keep his composure as people walked past either giving him a sympathetic eye or turning their noses up at him. He just needed the right person to come along so that he could put his plan to punish the one responsible for his suffering into effect.

Then, as if on cue, an awkward-looking girl stepped off the subway train. She was small-framed and her face was covered in freckles. Her hair was strawberry blond and her baby blue eyes held an innocence that he knew would be easy to overpower.

He reached inside his coat, eyeing the Muggles as they passed. He had to be careful not to get caught as he aimed his wand out of the sleeve of his coat at the gangling girl, who was digging around in the messenger bag hanging off of her shoulder.

"_Imperio!_" he whispered in a short, commanding tone.

The girl jerked a bit and then looked around. She stopped digging in her bag and started walking for the subway stairs.

The gray-blue eyed stranger stood from his crouched position and followed her up the steps and into the streets of London. He was careful to remain casually behind her, but still close enough to keep her in his control.

Gasps issued from bystanders as she stepped out into the traffic of busy London. Cars, trucks, and buses screeched to a halt as she continued across the street. The man chased after her, grabbing her elbow, and appearing to pull her to safety across the street. He paused with her on the street corner below the crosswalk sign and stared deeply into her eyes. His concentration was limitless as he tried to make it seem as though he was asking her if she was all right.

"Crazy child, you should be more careful," scolded an older couple.

"Is she all right?"

"Fine," the stranger answered without looking away from her. He needed to be sure that she got the directions he was conveying to her exactly right.

He released her a moment later, and she continued up the block as he sat down at the bus stop. He watched her reflection in the windows of the buildings across the street. His connection with her never severed as she entered the post office with a blank look in her eye.

She waited in line behind a man with a rather large package. When he turned, he almost knocked the strawberry blond over with his parcel.

"I'm so sorry," the man gushed, trying to juggle his box and hold her steady.

She did not acknowledge him, however, as she stepped up to the counter and pulled a pad and pen from her bag.

"Hello," the postal worker greeted. "What can I do for you?"

"I need your help finding an address," the girl stated, the distant, detached look still glimmering in her eye.

"An address?" the woman behind the counter frowned. "I'm not sure that I can--"

"Oh, please?" the girl asked, her tone slightly pleading. "See, the address I'm looking for is that of my friend's. We used to live next door to each other, but she moved. We lost touch over the years, and she moved again. I ran into another friend of ours, and they said that she had mentioned moving here. I was going to write her, but I cannot seem to get in contact with my other friend to get her address... Won't you help me... please?"

"I am not supposed to disclose personal information, though," the lady responded, her expression torn between guilt and doing what was her duty.

"But--"

"No, I'm sorry," the woman persisted, her glum expression sticking even though her voice was stern.

The girl turned under command of the man on the bench, who felt wrath bubbling under his skin as he sat watching from outside.

"Wait!" the postal worker called. "I cannot give you the address, but you could check the telephone book. Maybe you can find her there, and if not, maybe you can find your other friend to ask them."

"Thank you," the lanky teen said without true emotion as she opened the door and left.

The gray-blue eyed stranger looked at her as she stood dumbly in front of the post office. He tilted his head to the side, gaging her. She was useless to him now, so he had no real purpose to keep her under the Imperius Curse. She had been useless all along, and to him, there was next to nothing that was as bad as a useless Muggle.

He smirked as he heard the bus approaching. He closed his eyes for a moment and willed the girl to walk forward. She squeezed past the people moving up and down the sidewalk until she was standing between the bumpers of two cars. Her head turned in both directions and then she stepped out into the road. Her eyes stayed locked on the bus as she proceeded into the line of traffic.

He grinned and stood from his bench to watch the carnage as it unfolded.

The bus blew its horn and the driver slammed on the breaks; however, it was still too late. There was no way that the large double-decker could stop. People screamed and the gray-blue eyed man grinned maliciously at the sound of a body hitting the front of the bus. He stepped out into the street where the cars were now stopped, and people rushed to see if the small strawberry blond was all right.

Blood pooled in the street and her hair covered her face. Her body was laid in an odd position and the contents of her bag were scattered everywhere.

"Someone call the paramedics!" shouted a woman who was now kneeling beside the girl's broken body. "Does anyone know CPR?"

"Is she breathing?" gasped a man in a business suit as he held his cellphone to his ear.

"No... there isn't a pulse either," the woman replied gravely.

The gray-blue eyed man chuckled and slunk through the crowd away from the scene before the police got there. His eyes were set on the phone booth up ahead; he needed to look up an address.

* * *

Hermione sat on the back porch with one of her mother's trashy romance novels. She was trying to take her mind off of the letter she had sent Azariel out only an hour ago. If she could bring the owl back, she would probably never send the letter.

Normally, she was not this nervous. She had always been forward on matters of schooling, but this was more than schooling this time. This was her entire future. The idea of the Headmaster's reply made her upcoming N.E.W.T. scores seem like a joke.

"Time for lunch," Mr. Granger called out the kitchen window.

Hermione got up silently and entered the kitchen, tossing the book on the counter as she took a seat with her parents.

"Have you heard from Ron yet?" Mrs. Granger inquired.

"No," Hermione answered shortly. She was still not in the mood to deal with her red-headed friend.

"Oh," her mother muttered.

"Will you just look at that?" Mr. Granger declared incredulously. "Some girl was hit in London today by a bus. They said she just walked right out in front of it... Shame... Teens nowadays."

Mrs. Granger cleared her throat, and Mr. Granger returned his attention to the lunch table.

"Sorry, dear," he mumbled.

"Hermione," Mrs. Granger tried again, "your father and I want to talk to you about something."

Their daughter looked up, her eyes filled with sincerity and confusion as she waited for them to continue.

"Now, you know that we do not know a lot about the world that you are a part of," Mrs. Granger continued. "So we wanted to ask you to explain what exactly an Au-Aurie was."

"I've already told you, though," Hermione protested lightly, ignoring her mother's mispronunciation of the term. "I told you when you asked why Ron and Harry were not returning to Hogwarts with me. I explained that they were going away to Auror Academy and then I told you what an Auror was."

She was in no mood to argue with her parents. They would likely blow things out of proportion if they found out that being an Auror was remotely dangerous.

"For your mother's sake and piece of mind," Mr. Granger interrupted as Mrs. Granger opened her mouth to press her daughter further, "just tell us one more time."

Hermione sighed and looked from one to the other.

"Fine," she murmured, laying down her sandwich as she began fingering the edge of her plate. "An Auror is a dark wizard catcher... They are trained to track, combat, and capture dangerous wizards. Think of it as the wizarding world equivalent to a detective or police officer."

"Police officer?" Mrs. Granger repeated.

"Dark, dangerous wizards?" Mr. Granger echoed.

"Yes, yes," Hermione exhaled in exhaustion. "I have already battled these sorts, and I feel that after even more training at the Auror Academy, I would be more than qualified for the job."

"But... what happened to working with those elves?" Hermione's mother objected. "I thought that you wanted to work with making laws or changing them? Why would you want to track and capture crazy... dangerous people?"

"I still do, but I feel that my service would be better served as an Auror. Besides, the Aurors are not the only ones who go after these witches and wizards. There are special task forces in the Ministry, so I will not be in contact with the extremely dangerous ones. Just the escaped Death Eaters and those like them."

"But why?" Mr. Granger quizzed.

Hermione closed her eyes and rubbed her temples. Why did they have to question her decisions? Why did parents have to be so difficult? What was so wrong with just supporting her no matter what she did? Did they not think that she would make them proud either way?

"Because, Dad," she sighed after a moment of massaging her temples. "These men and women that I will be trained to pursue are the kind of people that did not want me in their world. They oppose Muggle-borns like myself, and I will not stand for that. I am going to prove that I am just as good as them by capturing them and bringing them to justice!"

"That's noble of you, darling," Mrs. Granger said, reaching across the table to pat her daughter's hand. "But the idea of this just makes your father and I worry about you."

"I remember when you were little," her father sighed, a reminiscent gleam in his light brown eyes. "I picked you up from school and asked you what you had done that day... Do you know what you had said?"

"That I had given a report on what I wanted to be when I grew up," she answered in a foiled voice. She remembered the day perfectly.

"Do you remember what it was?" he pressed. "What you wanted to be when you grew up?"

"I wanted to be a doctor or a veterinarian because I wanted to heal people and help them just like you and Mom helped people."

"Exactly... So why don't you be a nurse at that wizard hospital?" Mr. Granger suggested.

"Because that is exactly what everyone expects me to do. It is exactly where people like Ron think I belong. I do not want to be behind a desk, pushing papers, and making laws for other people to enforce. I do not want to spend my day in a sterile room making potions or changing bedsheets," she voiced, her tone growing more and more annoyed as she went. "I want to be--"

"Where Ron and Harry are?" Mrs. Granger inserted with a slightly disapproving tone.

"No!" Hermione snapped. "Where I can make a more direct influence. Where every little bit that I do will make a difference."

"You could do that in a law-making position," Mrs. Granger muttered.

"What your mother means," Mr. Granger butt in as he saw the fire in his daughter's eyes blaze, "is that we know what you want, but we wish you would pick a safer place to do it."

"I am sorry," Hermione sighed as she pushed away from the table and stood up. "Either you can accept this and support me, therefore making it slightly easier on me, or you can disapprove and continue to argue with me. Nonetheless, I am not changing my mind."

With that, Hermione turned and left the kitchen. Mrs. Granger shook her head and looked to her husband as he squeezed her hand.

"Your parents warned us that having only one child would be difficult," he reminded his wife as he gathered the dishes to put them in the sink.

"I did not know that it would be this difficult and that I would have to sacrifice my piece of mind for her happiness," Mrs. Granger muttered as she placed her face in her hands.

"She isn't asking us to do that," Hermione's dad expressed. "She is just asking us to be proud and supportive."


	5. Acceptance

**_Author's Note:_ **I believe that my customary thank you-s for reviewing the last chapter are in order, so my gratitude to: _pottersgirl91, Charmanth, Rin1507, ChamberlinofMusic, _and _Dramione-Fan 17_. And even though _Vera-Sabe_ and _CT1994_ cannot be found just yet in the reviews, I would like to thank them as well. They work behind the scenes to give me encouragement to keep writing and assistance with dislodging brain blockages. Bless you all! ~_0 Now, on to the reading....

* * *

**Chapter 5 – Acceptance**

It had been a week since Hermione had sent out her letter, and she still had not gotten a reply.

"What are you going to do... if you, well... if you don't, you know," Ginny fumbled as she sat on the Grangers' living room couch next to Hermione.

"Hmm?" Hermione mumbled, looking groggily over at Ginny. Her entire week had been riddled with bad dreams of failing N.E.W.T. grades and refusal letters from not only the Headmaster of the Auror Academy, but her friends as well.

"What are you going to do if you don't go to Auror Academy?" the redhead inquired, choosing her words carefully.

"If I _cannot_ go to Auror Academy," Hermione corrected, "then I guess I'll just have to apply at the Ministry for the position in the Magical Creatures Department as I originally planned."

"At least you have a back-up plan," Ginny smiled. "Not that you'll need it," she added as she tossed a throw pillow at her friend. "With absolutely perfect N.E.W.T. scores like yours, it's a wonder you don't have offers from all kinds of places like St. Mungo's and dozens of departments in the Ministry."

"Oh, Ginny," Hermione said, rolling her eyes. "You act as though no one has ever gotten perfect scores before."

"No one I know personally... well, except for Percy, but he's strange even for our family's standards."

"Ginny! That is not very nice. Percy has been extremely kind lately."

"Yeah, yeah," Ginny agreed as she picked at a spot on her T-shirt sleeve. "I'm not denying the fact that he has; I'm just saying that he's a bit odd."

"So if you get perfect scores, you are automatically odd?" Hermione questioned, a joking tone accompanying her would-be stern expression.

"You know what I mean," Ginny teased as she stretched and looked to the clock. "Well, Mum is going to be expecting us for dinner. Are you ready?"

"What?" Hermione asked, sitting up and looking in bewilderment at her friend.

"Mum wants to have a big dinner at home for us. Charlie, Percy, Audrey, and Bill and Fleur are going to be there," Ginny explained. "They're even bringing little Victoire."

"But we already had a dinner for graduation."

"Mum wants to celebrate with the rest of the family and give us something special for our N.E.W.T.s," the redhead continued to justify. "Not to mention she wants to have a dinner where Ron doesn't stuff up. It's her way of making things up to you."

"She doesn't need to do that," Hermione protested. "She is not the one who went barking mad at the table when I said I was going to Auror Academy."

The redhead shrugged again and shifted her weight from one foot to the other.

"You know my mum... she just wants an excuse to have everyone home again anyways. She was lonely as could be while I was away at Hogwarts and Ron was at the academy. She's used to having everyone around, and since it's been just her and Dad for the past year, she's overjoyed with the thought of everyone returning."

"All right, then," Hermione sighed, giving in to her friend's request.

"She's been positively glowing since Ron and I have returned home," Ginny continued as the two girls marched into the kitchen. "I hope her good mood will lessen the wrath I'm going to endure when I tell her tonight that I'm going to be a professional Quidditch player."

"I thought you said that you were not going to tell her until you had to leave for practices?" Hermione voiced as she wrote a note to tell her parents where she was going.

"Harry talked me into telling her a little bit early. He said that it would be too much for her to handle when she learned that I was going to be playing Quidditch and then having to deal with being alone with Dad again for a while."

"It is going to be difficult for her; she worries about everyone so much," Hermione sighed fondly as they retreated from the kitchen toward the stairs.

"Bill and Fleur were thinking about not coming tonight," Ginny confessed as they trudged up the steps to Hermione's room so they could Apparate to the Burrow.

"Why? Were they worried about bringing the baby or something?" Hermione asked.

"Oh, it's not that," Ginny said with a shake of her head as they entered Hermione's bedroom. "Bill said that Mum nearly drove him and Fleur mental the past year. She's been popping in for extra visits, especially since Victoire was born. He said that Mum has been trying to give Fleur tips on raising children, and she even got into a fight with Fleur about the baby's nursery last month."

Hermione smiled warmly as she grabbed her wand off her desk.

"Your mother would know best about raising children, though," Hermione acknowledged.

"Yeah, I guess so," Ginny shrugged before they Apparated.

* * *

He punched his hand through a car window, growling in aggravation. He had failed to find her. He had not even been able to find her house. He checked six different addresses, too. He broke into four of them and scared the living daylights out of the other two houses' tenants. Nonetheless, all his hard work was in vain because he was still no closer to finding her.

The gray-blue eyed man wanted to go back to the post office he had been outside of earlier today and strangle the worthless woman who had been working behind the counter. She had been no help at all. Her suggestion of using the telephone book had been absolutely superfluous, just like her.

A dripping sound brought him out of his imaginings of how he would mangle the woman's body. He looked down and saw that his hand was bleeding. Little rivulets of blood trailed over his knuckles and wrapped around his fingers, only to plunge to the ground from his partially curled fingertips. He was mesmerized by the red spiderweb of blood that was covering his hand.

He lifted his hand up in front of his face and watched the blood reverse its flow and create new streamlets in some places. He flexed his fingers, curling them down close to his palm to make a fist. He squeezed the fist tight, pressing his wet nails into his crimson palm. A sharp pain shot across the ridge of his knuckles and pierced the back of his hand; there was certainly glass in his wound.

Pulling out his wand from his coat pocket, he loosened his fist and turned his hand. Aiming the tool at his lesion, he whispered the words that he knew would bring him more pain.

"Accio glass."

Small shards of ruby-stained glass shot from the torn skin, worsening the gore that was his hand. He grit his teeth and swallowed back a groan as the sanguinary fragments hovered inches from his wand tip. He lowered his wand, and they dropped to the ground with dozen small clinking sounds.

The stranger stepped over the mess that he had created, but stopped as soon as he did. Spinning slowly, he eyed the tiny red puddle of blood with its sparkling pieces of broken window.

"Red," he said to himself, the wheels of his mind starting to turn sinisterly. "Red."

His mind began making instant connections between the object of his hatred and the color red. Her blood on his hands. The color of her tongue as she opened her mouth wide to scream for mercy. She would scream for her friends, too, for their help. The redheaded Weasleys were her friends; thus, she was bound to visit them sometime.

He would just stake himself outside their home and wait for her. Then, once she was within his sights, he would snatch her up, and she would feel the pain of his vindictive grasp.

He lifted his wand, his eyes alight with menacing glee as he disappeared with a pop. He knew exactly where to go because he had been there before. In fact, he had been to the Weasleys home only a summer ago to crash the wedding of their eldest son, Bill.

* * *

Hermione stood in the kitchen arranging silverware around the table as Ginny levitated plates into their places at each chair. Mrs. Weasley was humming happily to a song on the radio that Hermione had come to recognize as one of Molly's favorites. Mrs. Weasley's mood seemed contagious as she turned and set her wand upon a spoon in the Yorkshire pudding.

It jumped to life and began stirring of its own accord. Hermione placed the last fork on the table as George came through the back door. Angelina was with him, and this only seemed to make the bubble of happiness in Molly chest swell larger as she flooded the kitchen with the sound of her cheerful greeting.

"If you two would just wait in the living room with everyone else, that would be lovely," Molly beamed. "We'll have to add an extra place for Angelina... It's nice to see you by the way, dear."

"Hi, Mrs. Weasley," she said in return as George took her hand and pulled her past his sister to the living room where the sound of Arthur's laugh and Victoire's joyous squeals erupted frequently.

"Charlie's due in another five minutes, which is just in time. I should have the roast beef on the table by then," Molly twittered more to herself than Ginny or Hermione.

Ginny chortled quietly as Ron and Harry entered the kitchen; the living room was obviously getting too crowded. Hermione glanced up to see Ron looking at her. His face was expressionless, but when she straightened, he held up his hands to signal his surrender. She took this as the nearest thing she would get to an apology from him for his behavior at the last dinner they had been at together.

She was in no mood to ruin this dinner for Mrs. Weasley, and she had no real desire to continue the row since she was too preoccupied with worries about her acceptance to the academy. Hermione threw a small smile his way, letting him know that they were on safe ground once again.

* * *

With a crack like a breaking tree branch, the gray-blue eyed man appeared in the forest behind the Burrow. His eyes scanned quickly through the setting darkness until he saw the bright glow of the windows at the Weasley house. He slunk forward, using the foliage and shadows of the trees as cover.

He stopped when he heard another crack and saw a hulking figure appear only a few steps from the Weasleys' back door. The stalker in the forest narrowed his eyes and watched as the figure stepped up to the door, illuminating his short red hair and muscular body. It was one of the blood-traitors.

* * *

"Full house tonight, eh?" Charlie's voice boom as he opened the back door and reached out to ruffle his little sister's hair.

She smiled at him and gave him a half hug. Hermione had a feeling that if anyone except Charlie or Bill had tried this, they would have been on the receiving end of a Bat-Bogey Hex, which had become a signature jinx of Ginny's.

"Congratulations you two," Charlie added as he loosened his grip on Ginny and looked from her to Hermione. "I brought you both something from Romania, but you'll have to wait until after dinner."

"Which is ready now," Mrs. Weasley said as she pulled a large roast beef from the oven and placed it on the center of the table. "Call your father and the others in."

"Dad!" Charlie bellowed, making his mother wince at the sound of his booming voice.

"I could have done that," she grumbled, but there was still a smile on her face as she pulled her hands out of the oven mitts and wiped her brow. "Close the door, won't you?"

Charlie turned and gave the door a little nudge with the toe of his dragon hide boot. It closed with a soft thud, which was drown out by the sound of everyone crowding into the kitchen and pulling out chairs.

* * *

He had seen her. She had been standing there, so oblivious to the eyes that were drilling into her. She had been smiling and careless, which angered him slightly. He closed his eyes, willing himself to remain calm. He had finally found her, and he could not blow this now.

He leaned back against a tree, his breathing ragged and labored as his heart twisted with odd stabs of pain. It had all come down to this. He just needed to get to her somehow. He just needed to wait here in the darkness, wait for the moment when she came out the back door to Apparate home. That would be his moment. Yes, he could wait until then.

He settled to the ground, the rough bark snagging at his tattered coat. He hunched up, squeezing his midsection in a tight hug as he crouched low. He was so close now. He had waited over a year, and he could wait another hour or two.

Then, suddenly, something swooped overhead. His eyes shot to the treetops in time to see a snowy white angel whooshing towards the Burrow. He stood, watching as the owl fluttered to a stop and began pecking on the kitchen window.

* * *

"It's not much," Charlie said as he handed Hermione and Ginny their presents. "Just something small for a job well done."

"You did not have to do this," Hermione blushed as she accepted her gift and watched as Ginny tore excitedly into the envelope her brother had handed her.

"Awesome!" Ginny squealed, pulling a pair of concert tickets from inside the envelope. "I love the Weird Sisters. Thanks, Charlie!"

"I figured that since they would be in Romania, you and Harry could visit me for a weekend and see the dragons, too."

"Of course! Thanks," she gushed. "What did you get, Hermione?"

"Let's see," she replied, ripping open the brown paper that bound her parcel.

Inside was a hardback book. Its cover was dark blue with bronze gilding on the edges of the pages. Hermione appeared confused for a moment as everyone craned their necks to see what it was.

"It's a book about dark arts," Charlie explained. "There's some mention of Aurors in there. Moody has his own chapter even."

Hermione looked up in confusion at the second oldest Weasley son.

"Mum said that you would be joining Ron and Harry at the Auror Academy, and I know how much you like to research things," he justified. "I figured this might be something you would enjoy."

"Wow," she breathed. "Thanks, Charlie, but... I am not sure that I will be--"

Just then, there was a peck on the window. Everyone shifted their gaze from Hermione to the window behind her. She turned to see Azariel, Harry's white Hedwig lookalike, sitting patiently on the outside windowsill. The owl tapped on the glass with her beak again, so Hermione rose to let her in. Once inside, the owl held out her leg obediently and eyed the plate of dinner rolls on the table.

"What is it?" Harry asked, standing as Hermione turned with a fearful expression on her face.

"It's a letter addressed to me from the Headmaster of the Auror Academy," she answered, her voice barely audible.

Her hands were shaking, and her stomach was doing anxious flips.

"Open it," Percy urged, causing his girlfriend, Audrey, to give him a stern look.

"Let her do what she wants," Audrey hissed. "She does not have to open it in front of everyone."

"But it surely cannot be all that bad," Percy persisted. "Hermione always has been brilliant, so I am positive it is an acceptance letter."

"He's right, you know," Molly smiled as she stood and helped Hermione into her seat. "Go ahead, dear."

"Yeah," Charlie chimed in. "Let's see if that book really is going to come in handy."

His encouraging grin soothed her a bit. At least if it was a rejection letter, she would have the comfort and kindness of the Weasleys and Harry to calm her afterwards.

"All right," she exhaled noisily, tucking her finger under the flap of the heavy, important-looking envelope.

She held her breath as she pulled the letter out and unfolded it. This was the moment of truth. Hermione glanced up at Ginny who nodded. Hermione turned her gaze to Ron, who was looking pained and nervous.

"It's like a bad potion," George spoke up. "Drink it quick."

Hermione sighed and took his advise; he would know best about bad potions with all his experiments. She let her eyes fall back to the letter and began reading. Her jaw dropped degree by degree as she scanned further down the page.

"Well?" Molly inquired with an unusually high voice.

"The Headmaster wants me to come to the school a day early," Hermione responded. "He said that I have been accepted, but that there are stipulations... Well, not stipulations, but special accommodations or something of that sort."

"Congratulations!" Arthur laughed, patting Hermione's shoulder.

"See, not that bad," Percy added.

"I guess that book is going to help," Charlie teased, winking across the table at an elated and relieved Hermione.


	6. Envelope

**_Author's Note:_** Firstly, I would just like to say that I hope you enjoyed the little tide-you-over gift (_Little Golden Owl_) that I posted between this chapter and the last. Second, I have another gift to give. A banner for the story, to be exact. I pray you enjoy it and all its shippy, mysterious love. ~_0 Lastly, I would like to thank those of you who reviewed the last chapter: _Akira M, pottersgirl91, ChamberlinofMusic, Charmanth, CT1994, _and _Rin1507_.

* * *

**Chapter 6 – Envelope**

He could hear the delighted laughter and shouts of encouragement drifting towards the woods from the kitchen window. It made him feel ill and provoked. She was celebrating something. He could see her in the window. The smile on her face made his head spin with fury.

He whipped out his wand and aimed it through the branches and leaves at her. He only had to utter two words, and it would all be over. They would never see it coming, and they would never suspect or find him. But that would not serve his uncle a just revenge. He could not simply kill her to avenge his uncle's death. No. He needed to make her suffer.

The gray-blue eyed man wanted her to cower at the drip of a faucet. He craved her gasp when a shadow caught her eye. He desired her scream, her blood, and her fear. And he always got what he wanted, no matter the cost. So if it cost him patience to wait things out for a little more time, he could pay that toll.

* * *

"I'm sorry that I sort of stole the spotlight from you tonight, Ginny," Hermione apologized as they stood in her bedroom with Harry and Ron.

"It's all right," Ginny shrugged. "I don't know if it was such a good idea to tell Mum at dinner anyways. You know how her moods can change in a flash. I didn't want to be the reason dinner might have turned out badly tonight."

Hermione smiled at her friend as she laid the book that Charlie had given her on her bedside table. She planned on beginning it as soon as her friends left, and she was ready for bed.

"Besides," Ginny added in a whisper as she stood by the window with Hermione, "ruining dinner is Ron's job."

They laughed and then Hermione heard her parents calling from the living room.

"Hermione, is that you?" her father yelled.

"Yes!" she bellowed back.

"Did you have a nice time?"

"Yes! I got my acceptance letter to the Auror Academy," she called excitedly.

There was movement downstairs and the steps creaked slightly as her parents trudged up.

"Oh! Hello, Harry... Ron, Ginny," Mrs. Granger acknowledged as she and her husband came into the room. "You got your letter, then?"

"Yes," Hermione answered with a bright, ecstatic grin.

"That owl nearly gave your mother a heart attack. It had been sitting on the porch when we came home, and it hooted and spread its wings... I don't think I've ever seen your mother jump quiet that high," Mr. Granger recalled while fighting an amused smile.

A collective snicker went around the room while Hermione's mother glared at her spouse.

"You say you've been accepted, though?" her father repeated with a guilty grin. He needed to change the subject quickly.

Hermione nodded fervently. Her father looked pleased at her enthusiasm, but her mother appeared slightly anxious. Hermione's friends pretended not to notice, but it was obvious that they did as Ginny announced their departure.

"I think we should be going," she informed. "It's getting late."

"You really do not have to leave now," Mrs. Granger assured them, feeling a tiny bit at fault for the uncomfortable atmosphere in the room.

"Thank you," Harry chimed in, "but we're all supposed to be going into Diagon Alley tomorrow to celebrate and pick up some things we'll be needing for school, so it's really all right."

"What time will you three be over tomorrow?" Hermione's mother inquired. "I'll have some lunch ready."

"Lunch time sounds good," Ron agreed.

The three of them took turns giving Hermione a congratulatory hug and saying their goodbyes after that. Once they disappeared with a resounding pop, which made Mrs. Granger flinch slightly, Hermione looked contentedly upon her parents.

"I will be fine," Hermione promised her mother, who was leaning lightly against Mr. Granger's side. "It is just school."

"We know," her father said with a nod.

"We are proud of you... no matter what you do," her mother confessed. "We just worry about you."

"Your mother more than me," Mr. Granger joked. "I know you're a resilient girl... you are my daughter, after all."

"Which is what has me worried," Mrs. Granger added in a chastising tone.

Hermione sighed, bringing her parents' attention back to her. She was glad to see them joking in light of the matter, at least.

"I swear I am not making a mistake and that I will be just fine," she vowed.

They nodded in response to her promise, and Mr. Granger pulled his wife close to his side. She cuddled up against him while they looked fondly upon the daughter they had raised together for nineteen years. Mr. Granger reached out and placed a hand gently on Hermione's cheek. He caressed his thumb back and forth before tapping her on the nose and giving a partial turn.

"Good night, sweetheart," he murmured, pulling his wife along towards the bedroom door.

"Good night," Hermione whispered back, smiling as they pulled the door shut behind them.

She knew now that things would be fine. Or somewhat easier, she hoped.

* * *

He had been so close, and yet still so far from what he wanted most. She had been in the Weasleys' kitchen, which was only three feet from where he stood now. He was glaring in the back window, his face hot with rage.

They had not left the house to Apparate back to her home as he had planned. Instead, they had retreated into the living room, and before long, the lights were dimming in the house.

With bewilderment filling every fiber of his being, he had crept to the window where he stood now and watched Mr. and Mrs. Weasley retreat from the living room. They had shuffled down the hallway and out of sight, obviously heading off to bed. Now no one was left, not even Hermione Granger and her pathetic friends.

A gnome chuckled nearby and the shrubs around the house shook. His jaw clenched, and he tried to ignore the tiny creature's disruptions. However, he found this difficult because it felt as though the bothersome vermin was laughing at his plight.

The shrubbery shook again, a scurrying noise drawing closer to his feet. His hand shot out and snatched up the creature, which gave a small grunt and then a squeal as it kicked its feet. The next second, sharp little teeth like needles were piercing the skin of his thumb. He ignored the prickling, stabbing pain and squeezed the gnome tighter in his fist. Another distraught howl left the lips of the potato-headed pest. Its eyes bugged some as it began panting.

The stalker's eyes were dark, but the deranged glint could still be seen by the small critter. It kicked some more, squealing again, and sinking its teeth into the already bloodied skin of his thumb. Another squeeze of his hand created a cracking noise and the gnome screeched even louder. He was cracking its tiny bones.

Surely if the garden vermin could kick, its legs would have been swinging furiously, but it just laid its head back and panted before barking out another cry of pain. Eyes bugging, and body mostly limp, the gnome leaned forward to bite again, but to no avail. The man was already grabbing the legs of the creature and flinging it aside like it was nothing, not a living, breathing thing, but just a piece of rubbish.

He was about to turn and step on the pest as he headed back to the forest, but something caught his eye. Over by the back door of the Weasleys' home was an overflowing trash can. At the top of the waste heap was a thick, important-looking envelope.

This envelope caused him to realize something. Hermione Granger had gotten an owl earlier that night. That owl had caused her great excitement, so the message it carried must have been for her. And if that owl had been carrying a letter for her, then that meant that the envelope was probably addressed to her.

He had to chance it now. He had to invade the Weasley kitchen and retrieve that envelope. It could possibly lead him to the sweetest revenge of his life.

He walked to the back door and paused. There was no way that getting into the house could be as easy as speaking a simple, first year spell such as Alohomora. The Weasley clan would definitely have protective spells and jinxes cast to keep intruders from entering their house.

He stood back, peering at the door and then the window. There had to be some way. He just needed to draw on his Slytherin cunning for this task.

Then something hit him. He might not be able to use a simple spell like Alohomora, but there were other elementary charms he could implement. He could summon the envelope to himself. However, would any barriers for protection keep it from sliding effortlessly under the door? It was certainly worth a try.

"Accio envelope!" he hissed between his teeth.

The discarded letter wrapping wiggled feebly on top of the trash pile in the can before jumping into the air with a sudden burst of vigor. It shot to the floor and slid quickly towards the bottom of the door. He tried to guide it through the tiny gap at the bottom and on the side of the wooden portal, but the paper was much too thick. It only crumpled against the frame.

He clenched his jaw tight to keep from cursing as he let the letter drop to the floor. His arm fell to his side, and he glared off at the distant lane. He slogged away from the house, and as he headed for the forest, he tossed a disapproving glare over his shoulder. That is when he saw it.

He had been prepared to wait in the woods until morning when one of the Weasleys would open the door, and he could summon the envelope to himself. However, he saw the open window now.

At the topmost add-on of the house, a window was partially open. This was a plus, but he did not know how to guide the envelope through the house, though. What if while he sent the envelope zooming upstairs toward the window, he knocked over some trashy lamp and woke everyone up? They would sense something wrong, and his chance would be ruined.

Besides, he had no idea what route to take to get the envelope to this room.

He was back to his original plan. He would just have to wait out the night in the woods until one of the blood-traitors opened the back door in the morning.

Turning away from the poor, rickety, old excuse for a house, he stomped into the underbrush and thickening foliage.

* * *

"Ronald Weasley!"

A shout carried out the open windows of the Burrow and flowed towards the trees where the stalker rested uncomfortably against a gnarled trunk.

He stretched and winced against the light filtering through the dewy, green canopy above. It was bright out and his clothes were slightly damp. He stood and bit back a groan as he worked out the kinks in his joints and muscles. After months of sleeping in places such as these and abandoned houses, he should have been used to aches and pains that a terrible night's rest brought. However, he was not, and that was only one more thing that he despised Hermione Granger for.

"You will go out and clean up that garage before you leave!"

Mrs. Weasley's voice was shrill and made the gray-blue eyed stranger wince. He did not enjoy the sound of her voice as his alarm clock.

He slunk forward, bouncing off a few trees as he stumbled with grogginess. Once on the edge of the forest surrounding the Burrow, he crouched and waited.

Molly Weasley was standing in the kitchen at the window. Her head was bowed; she was obviously washing up dishes from breakfast.

The thought of a warm meal made his stomach twist and growl with emptiness. He was bitter over the lack of nourishment he had gotten as well. He grit his teeth and hunkered down lower, trying to squash out the hollow, gurgling pain in his midsection.

Suddenly the back door opened. The tall, freckled son of the Weasleys appeared there. He grabbed a pair of the boots at the back step and forced each of his feet down into one. He struggled for a moment after getting them on before ripping one off and throwing it into the yard. He turned and began griping about something that the stranger in the bushes could not hear.

Even if the youngest Weasley boy had been talking loud enough for the gray-blue eyed man to hear, he doubted that he would have paid attention. Instead, his concentration was locked on the envelope that had been placed back on top of the trash.

He needed to get it, yet he could not merely summon it out the door to himself. Or could he? Would they notice?

He sat deliberating for a moment as Ron turned and put his other boot on. The redhead stepped over the threshold and out into the grass after slamming the back door. He whirled back around to glare into the window at his mother only a moment later.

"Take the trash out, too!" she commanded angrily.

The gray-blue eyed man panicked for a split second then. If they took the trash out, he would lose his chance to discover Hermione Granger's home address. Without that bit of information, he would have to search another way to find her home. Nonetheless, the stalker watched helplessly—a feeling that he did not relish—as the loathsome boy ripped the trash from its can and tied the bag shut.

The Weasley son stomped across the yard, earning him a stern-faced glower from his watchful mother. He dropped the bag outside the aging garage and went in.

The stranger turned his attention back to Molly. She spun away from the sink, throwing her hands into the air and ranting wordlessly as she disappeared into the hallway of the Burrow. Now the gray-blue eyed man only had to worry about the youngest Weasley boy. He needed a distraction of some sort that could give him ample time to snatch the envelope from the discarded trash.

The stalker moved quietly as possible through the coppice of the forest until he was directly behind the garage. He crept forward, keeping low to the ground in a crouched manner until he was in the shadows of the ramshackle building. He stood slowly, only letting the top of his head come into view of the window enough so that he could peer inside.

Ron Weasley was leaning over a work bench. On it laid a broom, which he was clipping the stray sprigs from. His attention seemed so absorbed in what he was doing, so the gray-blue eyed man lowered himself back to the ground and crab-walked to the nearest corner of the garage.

He peeked around the building, eyeing up the rubbish bag. He pulled out his wand and aimed it at the forgotten waste.

"_Diffindo!_"

The bag split down the side causing gook, garbage, and food to come tumbling out onto the dew-covered grass.

"Accio envelope!" he cast.

Four pieces of paper zoomed from the gunky pile toward his feet. They dropped onto the grass, and he picked up the first, examining it.

It was unopened and obviously just junk mail requesting that Molly Weasley subscribe to _Witch Weekly_. The other two envelopes were address to Arthur Weasley, but the ink was so smeared and covered with unknown muck that the gray-blue eyed man could not make out where they were from.

He turned to the last envelope and a manic feeling coursed unfettered through his entire body. Hermione Granger's name was scripted neatly in dark blue ink on the front. Below her name was her address. Even better was the fact that, under a slightly transparent, pinkish stain, the person with whom she was corresponding and their address were visible in dark blue ink as well.

He clutched the envelope to his chest and rose somewhat from his crouched position at the corner of the garage. He ran, half bent over, back to the forest.

Once he was safe in the cover of the trees, he felt a giddy, half-crazed cackle bubbling up in his throat. It came out as a choked, deep chuckle as he pulled the envelope away from his chest to look at it once more.

He scanned it carefully, taking in every detail. Hermione Granger was writing to the Headmaster of the Auror Academy. Was she planning on attending? A wild wonder filled his brain, but only for a second before his eyes snapped back to the other address in midnight blue.

It was time to pay a visit to Hermione Granger.

* * *

He stood outside of King's Cross Station, appearing as a bum to many, just as he had the day he waited in the London Underground. His eyes never left the road as he watched cars load and leave or unload and wait for their owners to return. He had pondered stealing one of the waiting vehicles; he had had the perfect chance when a stupid Muggle left his keys hanging in the ignition. However, that would not do; he had never driven a car before and would have no idea how to get from London to Crawley.

The very thought of the town just south of London sent vibrations down his spine. He was now closer than ever to what he wanted. Mere hours away from sweet, self-served justice.

"There you are," huffed a stout-looking, middle-aged man not ten feet from where the gray-blue eyed man stood waiting.

The panting, balding fellow was leaning over a substantial amount of luggage stacked on a station trolley. Beside the trolley was a woman in an expensive-looking but casual dress, and she was digging through a small purse.

"That'll be fifteen pounds, ma'am," the sweating man said as he straightened up and tried to look the tall, rich-looking lady in the eye.

"Here," she scoffed, seeming uncaring at the price and man standing before her.

"Thank you," the cab driver managed before the woman turned and bellowed to one of the station attendants.

Now distracted by the currency he was counting, the taxi driver began meandering back to his black cab. He was too oblivious to notice the man that was now following him to his car.

The driver got in, leaning over the front seat to place the money in the glove compartment on the passenger side. As he rose to start the cab, he did a double take in his rear view mirror.

"Blimey!" he gasped. "I didn't even hear anyone get in."

He chuckled, but his laugh faded as he took in the look of the man now waiting in the backseat.

His clothing was shabby, tattered and torn in places. His attire was also filthy, giving him the appearance of a poor person.

"I'll take you wherever you want to go so long as you have the money to cover--"

"Crawley," the gray-blue eyed man in the back interrupted.

"Whoa! When I said 'wherever', I meant within London," the balding man informed. "If you are looking to go out of the London limits, then take a bus, mate."

The man in the backseat seemed to be leaning towards the door as though to get out and the cab operator gave an inward sigh of relief. He did not want to have any trouble from this bloke.

The next second, however, the door was still closed and the gray-blue eyed man had a thin, wooden rod shoved against the skin of the cabby's neck. He leaned forward to the driver's ear and growled his destination again.

"Crawley."

"Listen," the cab driver barked, stern this time, "I said I don--"

His statement was cut short, though.

The gray-blue eyed man whipped the stick away and pointed it at the front passenger seat. He spat something incomprehensible and orange light burst from the tip of the rod.

The driver gasped and grabbed quickly at his cold, forgotten coffee. He tossed it onto the seat where the light had landed and made the seat blaze with small but lively flames. He looked up to the rear view mirror and gazed fearfully at the deranged passenger in the back of his taxi.

The driver allowed his eyes to dart back to the now smoking, singed seat. There was a blackened hole gaping back at him where there had once been a gray, stained cushion.

"Wh-where d-d-did y-you say y-y-you wa-wa-wanted t-to go?" the cabby asked, his eyes locked on the alarming man in his mirror as he swallowed back his fright.

"Crawley," he repeated for the third time since he had gotten into the black vehicle.

He settled into the seat as the automobile accelerated into traffic and sped towards his destination. With any luck, he would be on the doorstep of the Granger household in a little more than an hour.


	7. Crawley

_**A/N:**_ So, nothing ever goes according to plan, but I'm sure everyone knows that, especially when it comes to me. And just when I had been doing so good with updating every other day, a wrench was thrown into my well-kept streak. Anyways, just know that I was having some difficulties (family matters, Christmas stuff, computer plug issues, etc.) that kept me from finishing, editing, and posting the chapter until now. Also know that I am sorry because - yet again, as not planned - Cedric's arrival will be delayed another chapter. This chapter itself ran over quite a bit; two full pages to be exact. I promise you that Cedric is in this story, and that he is a main character; it's just that I did not want to rush things along too quickly. I'm going to try and place him in the next chapter, which I am going to try and finish, edit, and post tomorrow. Cross your fingers everyone! Wouldn't it be so nice to get Cedric for Christmas? Anyways... I won't delay you from reading much longer. I would just like to say thanks to the following people and then you may read: _Akira M, Charmanth, pottersgirl91, Dramione-Fan 17, ChamberlinofMusic, Rin1507, vanillarush, _and _Vera-Sabe._

**

* * *

Chapter 7 – Crawley**

The cabby's eyes kept flitting to the mirrors of his car. He was keeping a check on the stranger in the backseat. What would this man do? What was he capable of? Was he in danger because of this gray-blue eyed, homeless man?

He pondered this for another moment and realized that he probably was. The man would more than likely kill him with that bizarre, fire-producing stick after they arrived in Crawley. But what was he to do?

The cab operator contemplated his options and found himself coming back to the same one over and over.

He could just deliver the man to the place he wanted to go and speed away, but the crazy man would surely blast his car into a horrible pyre with that wand he carried.

He could wreck the vehicle and pray that he could get away while the stranger lie dying.

He could also pretend to be out of gas and pull over. Once he was back at the trunk, he could open it and pretend to be getting out the petrol can before making a run for it. But then again, the deranged passenger would probably be wise to that and attack him before he could get even ten yards away.

It seemed that his only option was to wreck the car.

He glanced into the backseat once more and found the gray-blue eyes drilling into his own fearful hazel ones. The driver averted his gaze and started checking his other mirrors. Even if he was going to try wrecking his own car, he did not want to hurt anyone besides the crazy fellow in his vehicle.

The road was clear to his left, so he merged into that lane. Cars passed him on the right, and he feigned being absorbed in them. He turned the wheel quickly then, making the car swerve onto the shoulder of the road and into the grass.

They were headed for a wooded area with a deep ditch when the gray-blue eyed man righted himself from being jostled in the back. He whipped out his wand and jammed it into the taxi driver's cheek.

"Get back on the road!" he barked viciously. "Or so help me, I will blow your head off your shoulders!"

The driver winced and slammed on the brake pedal. The two of them would have flown forward had the insane man in the back not been anchoring them both to the driver's seat.

"Now, get back on the road and keep on course for Crawley," he demanded. "And if you try anything like that again," he added in a threatening tone, "I will kill you in a slow, torturous method. Do I make myself perfectly clear?"

The cabby could not bring himself to speak, so he sufficed by answering with a fervent but stiff nod of his head. He swallowed back the nerves that jittered their way from his roiling stomach to his tightening throat. He was surely doomed now.

* * *

"What's the address for the place you want to go, mate?" the cab driver asked quietly.

He had driven in silence for the remainder of his trip with the dangerous, homeless man, who was sitting completely still in the backseat.

The man reached inside of his tattered coat and the taxi driver winced, gripping the steering wheel tight. He was bracing himself for the worst. Then the gray-blue eyed man pulled out an awful smelling envelope that he thrust over the front seat.

The cab driver grabbed it quickly, shivering at the close proximity of the stranger's hand to his ear. He read the address and then began searching for the correct street.

They had finally arrived in Crawley after the taxi operator's attempt at wrecking the automobile. It had taken them an hour and twenty minutes to get from London, and that included the slight disruption of a failed wreck. The cabby could not believe that his life was probably about to end.

"Turn there," the stranger snarled suddenly, making the cabby hit the brake a bit too hard.

He turned onto a road that led away from the churches, office buildings, and general area of Crawley's thriving but humble center. Offices and shops gave way to houses that were beginning to space themselves further and further apart the longer they continued on their way.

"Stop," the gray-blue eyed man dictated.

The cab driver reluctantly pushed on the brake pedal, and they rolled slowly to a stop in front of a large, two-story duplex. This was not the address written on the envelope. However, the number on the house here was not far off from where the stranger needed to be. It became apparent that he was going to get out here and walk the remainder of the way.

The balding man in the front sunk in his seat some, panic dancing and twisting in his chest. His heart hammered at his ribs as he heard the door behind him open. There was a rustle of clothing as the gray-blue eyed individual climbed out of the car. The door slammed, but the cabby could barely hear it with the sound of his heart pounding in his ears, which were plugging up as a faint feeling gripped him.

The alarm his body was experiencing was going to cause him to go into cardiac arrest if the stranger did not kill him first. He was sweating buckets; the droplets of perspiration stinging his eyes as they rolled down his forehead.

The gray-blue eyed man smirked with sick satisfaction; he enjoyed seeing the terror of his victims. He reached into his jacket and was pulling out his wand when he heard the sound of a slamming door and laughter.

Three teens had just exited the duplex that they were parked in front of, which put a blockade in his plans. He could not kill the man and simply walk away; they would see and cause a commotion.

He leaned down to the balding driver's window and glared at him.

"Consider yourself lucky," he grumbled as he jabbed his wand, which was half-concealed in his sleeve, into the cabby's temple.

The gray-blue eyed wizard snatched the envelope from the dash and stuffed it inside his coat's interior pocket. With another quick glance to the teens, who were horsing around on the porch of the duplex, he growled a spell from between his teeth.

"_Obliviate!_" he hissed.

The cabby froze, his eyes going blank and his hands slackening their grip on the steering wheel.

The stalker rose slowly and walked away from the cab, which sat there a moment longer as the driver stared around in confusion. The gray-blue eyed man watched cautiously as the cabby adjusted the mirror on his door and pulled out.

Once the black vehicle was out of sight, the shabby individual continued his search while walking past house after house.

Finally, his eyes landed on the thing that he had been in pursuit of for over an hour since he had gotten into the London taxi. Hermione Granger's house stood in a lush green yard with a long driveway, which was empty.

He leered at the white, two-story home and prayed that the empty driveway meant that neither of her parents were home. He paused for only a minute by the mailbox at the end of the drive, smiling spitefully as he saw that the address painted on the side matched that of the one printed on the envelope in his pocket. Continuing on, he stalked eagerly up the drive, his revenge closer than he had ever hoped it would be.

* * *

Hermione entered through the back door of the Burrow into the Weasleys' kitchen behind Harry and Ron. Mrs. Weasley, who was sitting at the kitchen table pouring over _Enchantment in Baking _while nursing a mug of tea, looked up and beamed.

"Is anyone hungry?" she asked as she rose and pulled her wand from the pocket of her apron.

Molly flicked her wrist and a cupboard opened. Cups and saucers came soaring out and lined up on the counter as she grabbed the kettle off of the stove.

"No thanks, Mrs. Weasley," Hermione denied. "My mom made sure we ate a good lunch before she and my father left for the dentistry seminar."

"Oh," Mrs. Weasley sighed, looking put out. "Tea, then?" she perked up a second later.

Harry nodded along with Hermione, the two of them smiling so as not to hurt her feelings.

She turned her back to them and finished pouring the tea before levitating them onto the table.

"Ronald? Where are you going?" Molly inquired as she sat the sugar bowl on the table along with a small pitcher of cream.

"Upstairs. I want to see if I have an money stored back for Diagon Alley," he replied with a shrug.

"If you're going to look in that spare sock under your mattress, then you're wasting your time. You emptied that when you came home for Christmas last year."

Ron slumped against the doorway and grumbled something that sounded faintly like, "I hate being poor."

"We should get going before it gets too much later," Ginny reminded.

They should have been in Diagon Alley by now, but lunch with the Grangers had taken longer than they had expected.

"Gin's right," Ron sighed, straightening and sauntering lazily into the living room.

The other three followed, Harry and Hermione giving their apologies to Mrs. Weasley before bidding her farewell. Harry grabbed the pot off of the mantle place and each of them grabbed a handful. Ron yawned as Harry stepped up and expanded the fireplace to accommodate their height.

"You can't be tired," Ginny accused incredulously, watching her brother stretch to his fullest.

"Full stomach," he excused, rubbing his stomach as Harry stepped into the fireplace. "It always makes me tired."

The bespectacled young man was about to throw his Floo Powder down onto the soot-covered bricks when a series of loud, obnoxious buzzes filled the living room.

Harry, Ron, and Ginny looked around in alarm as Hermione squealed and began digging in her small handbag.

"What is that?" Ron barked as Hermione pulled a flashing key from her change purse.

"What's going on?" Mrs. Weasley cried as she ran into the living room.

"Someone is breaking into my house," Hermione explained, worry etched all over her face.

"What do you mean?" Ginny inquired, wincing at the sharp sound emanating from the flashing object.

"I have wards set up around my house to alert me when someone magical tries to enter my home uninvited," Hermione explained as she fumbled for her wand.

She tapped the key with her wand tip, and the shrieking buzz stopped.

"I have to go."

"You can't go there by yourself," Ron protested.

"We'll go with you," Ginny offered eagerly.

"No one is going," Mrs. Weasley snapped. "You're going to go to the Ministry instead. Find Arthur. He'll make sure that some Aurors go and check out the disturbance."

They nodded, and Harry proceeded back into the fireplace. He threw down the green substance in his hand and shouted his goal. He was whirled out of sight and the flames died soon after. Ron followed, imitating Harry's actions. Ginny was about to join them when Mrs. Weasley grabbed her sleeve.

"Oh, no," she objected. "You're staying here. Harry, your brother, and Hermione will be back when it's safe."

Hermione had no time to hear Ginny's arguing as she stepped into the fireplace and let the powder slip from her fist. Flames jumped to life and engulfed her less than a second later.

"Ministry of Magic Atrium!" she bellowed, making the floor beneath her feet disappearing.

Time seemed to stand still as the thoughts in her head simulated her own movement through the Floo Network. Finally, she came to a stop; the floor's abrupt reappearance jarred her inside and out.

"C'mon," Harry directed, grabbing Hermione's hand and pulling her down the corridor.

Ron was on the other side of her as Harry snatched up all of their wands and threw them at Eric Munch, who was sitting at the security desk.

"One at a time," Munch scolded, picking up Ron's wand and dropping it onto the one-tray, brass scale. "Nine and a quarter inches, chestnut, dragon heartstring core, been in use for... _twenty-eight_ years?" Munch looked sceptically at the redhead.

"Yes, yes," Ron grumbled, taking back his wand.

Eric repeated the process for Hermione's wand.

"Twelve and a half inches, walnut, dragon heartstring core, been in use for... _forty-seven_ years?" Munch inquired with a strange look at Hermione. He seemed struck by the idea that these young children would have wands that had been in use for so long.

Hermione nodded quickly, taking back her wand, and fidgeting.

"C'mon," Ron grouched.

Eric placed Harry's wand onto the scale next.

"Eleven inches, holly, phoenix tail feather core, been in use for eight years?" Eric quizzed, seeming unsurprised by this.

"Uh-huh," Harry mumbled as he grabbed his wand and raced towards the golden grilled lifts with his friends.

It would seem that they were in luck as a lift stopped and witches and wizards began filing off. The trio shoved their way inside, and Ron pointed his wand at the gate. It slammed shut on his command, much to the disgust of the other waiting witches and wizards.

"Go!" Ron barked.

The lift began to move, and with each floor, the trio began to get more and more impatient. More than once, Ron slammed the grilles shut on a waiting Ministry worker, and more than once, he was called unthinkable names.

Hermione's key began buzzing again, the shrill noise filling the lift.

"What's that mean?" Ron bellowed, stuffing his fingers in his ears.

"It likely means that they have not got past the wards I have set up," Hermione explained, tapping her wand to the key once more as the elevator stopped at Level Two.

Harry shoved the gate open quickly, and they raced out into the cubicles of the Auror division.

"Dad's office is this way," Ron explained, racing ahead of them with ease because of his long strides.

"What magical person would want to break into your home?" Harry questioned over his shoulder as they three of them rushed down a compact, shabby corridor.

"I do not know!" Hermione responded, her voice full of anxiety as they burst into Arthur Weasley's office.

Arthur and Perkins both let out a horrified gasp as the three teens stumbled to a halt, almost landing on Mr. Weasley's desk.

"It's all right, Perkins," Ron's father promised as he recovered quickly. "It's just my son and his friends."

Perkins nodded, though, he was still clutching at his chest. He stooped to begging picking up papers as Ron launched a series of requests at his father.

"Slow down, Ron," Arthur commanded. "Now, what's all this?"

"My home, Mr. Weasley," Hermione panted. "I have reason to believe that it is under magical attack by someone."

"Attack?" the older redhead repeated, looking both baffled and concerned. "By whom?"

"That's just it, Mr. Weasley," Harry butt in, "we don't know."

"Mrs. Weasley sent us," Hermione added. "She said that you could get help from the Aurors to investigate."

"Right," he nodded, rising from his chair and squeezing out of the office with the trio in the lead. "I'll be back shortly, Perkins," he called over his shoulder.

They entered the vast room filled with cubicles and paper airplanes. The hum of low whispers and laughter was everywhere as Arthur pushed to the head of the group.

"This way. We'll go see--"

"Arthur," boomed the deep voice of Kingsley Shacklebolt. "And Harry, too."

"Hello, Minister," Arthur greeted, although his voice was distracted.

"What brings you to the Ministry?" Shacklebolt inquired happily as he looked at Harry, Ron, and Hermione. "I hear you have been accepted to the Auror Academy, Miss Granger. Are the three of you picking out desks for the future?" he joked.

"We're here for help, sir," Harry informed. "Hermione's house is--"

A piercing hum of a buzzing alarm sounded a third time from Hermione's hand.

"What's that?" a long-haired wizard sitting in a cubicle next to them asked as he cupped his hands over his ears.

"My house alarm," Hermione explicated; she was growing tired of answering that question and others like it. "It alerts me to when my house is being forcefully entered by a witch or wizard."

"Forcefully entered by a witch or wizard?" Shacklebolt repeated, his voice completely changed from jovial to stern and serious. "Who would do such a thing, Miss Granger?"

"I have no idea," Hermione whimpered.

"Williamson," Kingsley barked in a commanding tone. "Take Dawlish, Arthur, and Pontner with you to Miss Granger's home. Investigate this disturbance and bring in the culprit. I will have _no_ breach in wizard secrecy because of this incident."

"Yes, Minister," Williamson said, jumping up from his seat and making his long ponytail swing wildly behind him.

"Hermione," Mr. Weasley stated firmly, "you are going to have to come with us."

"Dad," Ron piped up earnestly, "Harry and I are coming, too."

Arthur did not dispute this as Williamson returned with a wizard that had short, unruly, gray hair and a witch that was dressed in navy blue with her hair braided in a long plait down her back.

"Where is your home?" the gray haired man, who was obviously Dawlish, inquired.

"In Crawley," Hermione replied. "We can each take you by Side-Along Apparition."

Williamson seemed to deliberate this for a moment before sighing and giving in.

"All right, but you must stay back when we get there," he ordered. "C'mon now... we can't Apparate from in here."

Everyone followed the wizard in red robes back to the lifts. They piled in, and Williamson aimed his wand at the overhead floor indicator. He whispered a spell and the elevator began moving quickly through the floors, not taking the time to stop or announce the levels.

"I have to learn that," Ron breathed in amazement as they pushed past the golden grilles and ran for the fireplaces where witches and wizards were disappearing.

* * *

He had not counted on this, on the wards that were placed on the home. This was a Muggle home, so he had thought that it would be easy to enter.

He had tried simply breaking the window on the back door so that he could unlock it from the inside and enter that way, but the glass was as solid and resistant as a large diamond. No doubt a simple Unbreakable Charm protected them.

Then he had tried simply blasting the door out of the way with "Expulso," which was an explosive charm, but that had not worked either. The spell had hit the door and only succeeded in creating a shower of sparks.

After that, he had tried "Deprimo," yet another explosive, blasting charm. It, too, had failed to grant him access into Hermione's home.

He slammed his fist against the column of the back porch and looked over his shoulder towards the door.

If someone had been home at all, they would have heard him by now and came to investigate. It had been a wasted trip for him to even come here. She was was not inside the house and neither were her parents.

He was more than frustrated with this unseen obstacle in his plans. Aiming his wand at the door, he gave in to his curious side and cast a spell that would allow him to see which spells she had cast over the home.

"Specialis Revelio," he seethed, causing odd popping noises to issue from thin air.

Colors burst around him, some he recognized and associated with the spells that were being listed in Hermione's own voice.

"_Cave Inimicum! Protego totalum!_" her voice rang, making his sense of ire grow stronger.

The next incantation listed he did not recognize fully, but he made an assumption as to what kind of spells it was akin to, which was obviously a Caterwauling Charm mixed with a Supersensory Charm or some sort of stealth sensory jinx. An Unbreakable Charm was cast next, and finally, her voice called out the last of the cautionary measures she had placed on her residence.

"_Salvio hexia!_"

There was no way he could lift the charms because anything he would have done to counteract or remove her jinxes was already ruled out by one spell after another. She was well defended against anything he would throw at her. In fact, she was probably even aware of him being here now.

This thought gave him a brilliant idea. Surely she would be coming home to investigate the disturbance. And if that was the case, all he had to do was wait for her. Yet he needed the element of surprise; he could not merely sit on her back porch and wait for her to arrive.

The stalker glared at the house and then another idea came to him. He had not tried Apparating yet.

The reason he had not simply used Apparition in the first place was because he had never been to her home before. With only knowing the postal address, there were chances that he could splinch himself while Apparating there because the postal address was not necessary going to tell him where the house was physically. Nevertheless, he was standing on her back porch now, and he could see into her kitchen.

The worst that could happen is that he would run into an Anti-Apparition Jinx on the house. Of course, he had not heard this particular jinx in the arsenal of wards she had used. In fact, he did not even think there was an alteration of the jinx on her home because this was most likely the way that she traveled herself.

He specifically remembered the Ministry ruling that Muggle homes were not allowed to be connected to the Floo Network, so that ruled out fireplace traveling for her. This left only Portkeys and Apparition because she could not fly a broom out of her home. Portkeys, however, had to be set up with the Ministry, and it would be an awful lot of trouble to go through every time she wanted to visit one of her wizarding friends.

She just _had_ to Apparate and Disapparate from the privacy of her home. What other way was there for her to travel?

A sly expression touched every feature of his thin, sallow face as he gripped his wand and raised it. Within moments, he had traveled through the misty, blackness and had reappeared inside her kitchen. A maddened chuckle ripped past his lips as he tore a picture of Hermione and her father from the refrigerator and crumpled it in his hand.


	8. Close Call

**_Author's Note:_** Sorry that this update is so late everyone. I hope that the fact that it ran three pages longer than a normal chapter makes up for that. Also, know that Cedric _is_ in this chapter, however small his part might be. I pray that that helps ebb away the irritation with the fact that the chapter is late as well. Anyways, I won't delay you much longer; I'll just give my thanks and let you read. So thank you to: _Akira M, pottersgirl91, ChamberlinofMusic_ (an especially large one here for helping me in realizing a big mistake in the last chapter)_, Charmanth, BlueEyedCountryGirl, _and _vanillarush_.

* * *

**Chapter 8 – Close Call**

Hermione pushed her way out of the cramped restroom stall as Ron and Mr. Weasley appeared behind her from the watery depths of the toilet. She ran into Harry and Dawlish, who were waiting near the sinks in the crowd of people leaving the Ministry.

"Right, then," Mr. Weasley called. "That's everyone."

Pontner, the witch with the long, blond braid, and Williamson, the wizard in crimson robes, came out of two adjoining stalls.

Without so much as a warning, Pontner grabbed Hermione's hand and said, "Your lead."

The younger witch nodded and looked to Ron, his father, and Harry.

"The living room," she announced in a small, but determined timbre. She was trying to keep her voice from shaking; she did not want to show fear.

She was a war heroine and strong women of that kind were not supposed to express fright in a situation that was comparably smaller than a battle like the one that she had fought in at Hogwarts a little more than a year ago. Then again, the war had not been as literally close to home as the threat of a wizard breaking into her place of residence.

Hermione fumbled for her wand and her hand shook involuntarily as she raised it. With a nod to her friends, she Apparated, taking the witch dressed in dark blue robes with her. Pontner's presence was invariably close to Hermione's left side as they whizzed through the blackness.

The brunette witch did not feel an ounce of worry about being splinched because she was so concerned about the attack upon her house that she could think of nothing else.

When everyone materialized in her parents' cozy, tidy living room with a series of echoed pops, she felt a chill abound through her body. It felt as though someone was repeatedly dumping buckets of ice water on her.

She looked around, but nothing seemed to be out of place. All the pictures were still on the mantle. Her mother's books were arranged in the same neat, alphabetical order on their shelves at one side of the fireplace. At the other side of the hearth, her father's collection of dentistry awards and collectible trinkets were unmoved on their own shelves as well. Not even the cushions on the couch or the blanket that was draped in her father's favorite armchair had been disturbed.

Everyone seemed to be on alert, looking for the slightest hint of an intrusion.

"D'you think whoever it was gave up?" Ron whispered, his shoulder brushing hers as he leaned near to her.

She shrugged and looked to the stairs.

Williamson followed her line of sight and nodded. He pointed to Dawlish and then to the steps. The gray-haired wizard followed the other wizard's orders and tiptoed quietly towards the steps. He was about to mount the bottom step when the noise of a creaking floorboard issued from the kitchen.

Hermione whipped around, as did the others, and she raised her wand. She was ready to step forward and challenge the intruder when Williamson grabbed the back of her shirt. He pulled her back to his side by a fist full of fabric clasped in his fingers and shook his head in a negative fashion.

Pulling her further behind him, he shielded her and shouted, "Come into the doorway with your wand and hands both raised where we may see them."

No answer came, and Hermione felt her stomach dropping inch by inch into her toes as the seconds passed.

Ron and Harry stood at either side of her, Ron gripping her hand and squeezing it tight for support. Mr. Weasley lingered with the trio as Pontner, Dawlish, and Williamson crept towards the doorway that led from the living room to the kitchen.

A whimper escaped the youngest witch's lips, and Arthur pressed a single finger to his own mouth to quiet her.

Another squeaking floorboard resounded in the silence and the three Aurors stiffened their defensive stances.

"Show yourself!" the wizard in red demanded in a quick, whip-like voice.

Before the echo of Williamson's snap could die away, there was an explosion of noise and movement.

Something metallic hit the linoleum floor in the kitchen. A hissing shriek resounded and a flash of a bushy orange body shot across the room. Dawlish sent a Stunning Spell at the hairy streak.

Hermione screamed in protest and a crash of a vase filled the air as Crookshanks leaped onto a nearby desk.

Another spell was shouted, and Pontner cried out for everyone to look to the landing above.

Hermione had no time to follow the older witch's direction, though, as Ron grabbed her and hugged her to him. He leaped towards the couch, knocking both of them from their feet. They landed on the sofa, his weight crushing her as he crashed down on top of her.

The breath whooshed out of her, and she gasped into his chest as a thunderous breaking noise shook the room. She tried to look around and see what had happened, but Ron's body screened her face into darkness. She could, however, hear the muffled cries of spells and people running across the living room for the steps.

A second, jarring boom was heard, and Hermione nestled closer into Ron, who cast a protective spell around them.

Hermione felt a scream rip from her lungs, through her throat, and out of her mouth as unbearable heat erupted from the couch she was pinned against.

Ron jumped up quickly and pulled her with him, pushing her towards Harry, who pulled her into the kitchen. She tried to look back over her shoulder and see what damage had been done as she heard the crackling of a fire, but her black haired friend shoved her quickly out the back door.

"Run!" he instructed as he nearly tripped over her.

Ron was right behind them, and Hermione caught a glimpse of Mr. Weasley in the kitchen doorway, shooting jinxes back into the living room.

"Go!" Ron's father bellowed, and Ron and Harry pulled Hermione from her back porch.

She stumbled and came close to falling down the steps of the porch, but her friends kept her upright as they dragged her towards the grouping of cypress trees in her large, open back yard.

"Wait! My wand!" she shouted, but they did not stop until they were behind the trees.

Harry held his wand aloft and wrapped his arm tightly around Hermione's waist. Within seconds, she was moving back through the darkness to goodness only knew where.

* * *

"Your parents have been relocated to a coastal resort in Brighton," Kingsley Shackbolt relayed as he sat across from Hermione in the Weasleys' living room, "courtesy of the Ministry. They have agreed to close their dental office for a week while we sort out the mess in your home."

Hermione nodded her understanding; she was relieved to hear that her parents were safe, although she knew things would not be perfectly all right. They had to be worried sick about her and very confused as to why a wizard would attack their home. She could just hear her mother's fretful cries and feel the stress her father was feeling as it weighed heavily on her shoulders.

"Do they know where I am? Can I see them?"

"Arthur Weasley personally escorted them along with Pontner to the resort, and he explained that you were within the safety of his home. He promised that he and Molly would care for you until it was possible for you to visit them."

Again Hermione nodded as Mrs. Weasley entered from the kitchen and passed the younger witch a cup of tea. She handed one to the Minister as well and then sat down beside Hermione. The redheaded witch rubbed Hermione's back in a soothing, motherly manner as she looked to the dark skinned wizard in front of them.

"What of the Muggles who questioned the noise?" Molly inquired. "Arthur said that some of Hermione's neighbors came knocking on the door and asked what was happening."

"They have been taken care of... Their memories were modified to exclude the disturbances, and they were sent back to their homes."

Hermione gulped down tea, trying to scald her nerves into nonexistence with the steaming liquid. It burnt in a fashion that Hermione did not expect, and she deduced that Molly had slipped some sort of brandy or whiskey into her cup. Alcohol always made Hermione feel distant and groggy, and Mrs. Weasley must have heard as much from Ron and Harry.

The older witch was obviously trying to find a way to calm Hermione's nerves outside of her constant coos of support and consolation.

"Will the repairs to her home be finished in a week's time?" Mrs. Weasley quizzed.

Kingsley nodded, although something about the way he bobbed his head seemed grave and uncertain.

Hermione felt her stomach churn as a shiver danced quickly down her spine and arms. She had no idea what the extent of the damage was to her home. She had not been permitted to return to her house after Ron and Harry had whisked her away to the Burrow. The only matter that she got to give her consent on was the addition of an Anti-Apparition Jinx to the wards she had placed on the residence. Other than that, she had been told nothing except that there was fire and curse damage in the living room area and her cat, Crookshanks, had been killed in the fray. What little she knew was driving her crazy.

"Excuse me," she sighed after a moment's pause. "I feel exhausted right now, so I think I need to go lay down for a bit... Besides, I will need the rest for our trip to Diagon Alley tomorrow; I need to get my school supplies and a new wand."

The wand that Hermione had been using for more than a year now, which had originally belonged to Bellatrix Lestrange, had been dropped when Ron tackled her onto the couch. Mr. Weasley confessed that he had not seen it anywhere when they inspected the damage to her home, so she figured that it must have burnt up in the fire they mentioned.

Mrs. Weasley nodded, although she appeared slightly disapproving of the idea that Hermione was going to still try and visit Diagon Alley the next day under the circumstances. Molly took the half empty cup of tea from the younger witch's hands as she asked, "Do you need anything, dear?"

"No, thank you, Mrs. Weasley," she replied, sounding old beyond her nineteen years. "And thank you, Minister. Please relay my gratitude to the Aurors who helped today as well."

"I will," Shacklebolt promised as Hermione disappeared from the living room and into the hallway.

Ron and Harry were waiting on the steps for her. They stood immediately and let her lead the way, pausing only a moment as the three heard Mrs. Weasley's voice.

"Who was it, Kingsley?"

"We can't be certain, Molly," the Minister breathed, his deep voice bitter with defeat. "No one recognized him, but we are working on it."

There was a second of silence and the trio was about to continue up the staircase, but then Kingsley spoke again.

"I can't believe he got away."

Hermione felt a wave of nausea roll over her. She knew now exactly how Harry had felt when Voldemort had been at large. The creeping paranoia that skittered about in her brain as she wondered where this man was. What was he doing? Were her parents really safe? Was she safe?

* * *

Hermione stood next to her trunk in front of the Weasleys' fireplace. A week's time had passed so quickly that it almost made Hermione's head spin.

"Do you have everything, then, dear?" Mrs. Weasley inquired.

"I believe so," Hermione answered, feeling both nervous and excited as she patted her pocket and felt her new wand resting there.

"If she's forgotten anything, I'll send it along with Harry and Ron tomorrow," Ginny promised.

Hermione nodded her thanks and grabbed a handful of green shining powder from the pot that Molly held.

"Be sure to keep your arms tucked in tight," she cautioned as Hermione stepped forward with her trunk.

Harry and Ron helped to wedge it into the empty fireplace with her, which was a tight squeeze. She gripped the handle and smiled at each of them. They had helped her so much in the past week; she would never be able to truly express every ounce of gratitude that her body held.

"See you tomorrow," she bid to her two friends as they waved.

She gave her farewells to Ginny and Mrs. Weasley before looking down at her feet. She threw the shimmering powder at the hearth and green flames burst to life. They engulfed her as she screamed, "Auror Academy!"

In a rush of warmth, her hair whipped up into her face. The floor beneath her fell away, and she was spinning. Her trunk beat against her, and she was beginning to feel sick. Her heart slammed against her chest and her mind begged for the awful ride to be over.

Abruptly, the floor was beneath her feet once more, jarring her as she stopped painfully. A stabbing feeling rushed from her heels to her calves and shins as she winced. It felt as though she had jumped off of something from a great height and landed all wrong.

"Welcome! Welcome!" she heard before she had even opened her eyes.

She shook her hair from her face and struggled to right herself in the cramped space. Hermione opened her eyes and finally looked into the face of the Headmaster.

He was a middle-aged man of average height. His eyes were hazel-colored and his upper lip was marred by a deep scar. His light brown hair was streaked with gray and thinning, though it was long enough to keep his receding hairline at bay. Another scar cut through his right eyebrow and downward, making the eyelid above his right eye droop a little.

He was neither muscular nor fat; in fact, his build and stature reminded Hermione greatly of Remus Lupin. His clothing, on the other hand, was not as shabby as Hermione's previous professor and friend. Instead, it was business casual and bland, completely unadorned.

"Here, let me help you," he beamed, grabbing her trunk and helping her to remove it from the fireplace.

"Thank you," she breathed heavily, trying to level her ragged breathing.

"Welcome to the Ministry of Magic's Auror Defensive Training Academy... or better known as Auror Academy," the man greeted again. "I am Archibald Boulstridge, Headmaster of Auror Academy... And you are Hermione Granger, am I right?"

Hermione smiled and accepted his proffered hand. She shook it firmly while saying, "Yes, I am Hermione Granger. It is a pleasure to meet you. Thank you for giving me this chance to attend the academy."

"You are most certainly welcome," Boulstridge acknowledged. "Now, let us sit down and discuss your arrangements, shall we?"

Hermione's stomach twirled and somersaulted as she took the seat that the Headmaster offered across the desk from his own. She was anxious to hear what he was going to say about her stay here at the academy since it was on special terms.

"I will be honest when I say that the academy does not normally grant acceptance to a student so late in the year. In fact, the only letters requesting acceptance that we get at this time are for students who have another year of schooling left at Hogwarts or another institution," Headmaster Boulstridge elaborated after taking his own seat. "And then those are filed away as early applicants for the following year."

He leaned back in his chair and smiled warmly at Hermione. She was suddenly very self-conscious. She brushed the folds from her skirt, all the while never taking her eyes off of the man across from her. She felt that it was important that she keep her face expressionless and that she give him her undivided attention.

"I admit that I was going to write a sincere apology letter saying we could not accept you at this time. However," Archibald continued, "that was before I saw your N.E.W.T. scores."

Hermione did not understand. Why would he investigate how she had done on her seventh year tests if he was going to reject her request anyways?

As if he had read her mind, the Headmaster answered, "We had a student withdraw from the program—and the Minister likes to see full attendance when we can manage it—so I began going through the application letters... Yours happened to be on top."

He expressed his pleasure once more by smiling again; this time, his grin was even larger.

"Let me tell you that you saved me a lot of time in weeding through applications," he chuckled. "Perfect N.E.W.T. scores!" He threw his hands wide as he said this and then clapped them back together. "Congratulations!"

"Thank you," Hermione replied quickly, but before she could say anything else, Boulstridge pressed on.

"Now, as if your scores were not enough, the Minister informed me that you are a close companion of one of the top students here at the academy: a Mr. Harry Potter."

Hermione worked hard to keep the grimace off of her face. Ron would love to rub this bit of salt into her wound.

"Sir," she began, but he held up a hand to silence her as he moved on.

"The Minister also informed me that as a friend of Harry Potter, you fought bravely in the battle at Hogwarts a little over a year ago," Archibald mentioned. "That kind of bravery, intuition, and determination is just what being an Auror is all about... Oh, and let me say that Minister Shacklebolt was rather pleased to see that it was you that we had accepted to the academy."

Hermione sighed inwardly with relief. So it had not been Harry's relationship with her that had helped gain her a place in the program. At least not completely. Knowing him had helped lead her to fight in the battle at Hogwarts, just as Boulstridge had said, and it was that which had helped gain her the approval she needed. That and the fact that Minister Shacklebolt had once been eager for her to attend the academy anyways.

"Since we have already discussed the process of your acceptance, let us move on to terms of it," the Headmaster elucidated.

Hermione shifted in her seat; she had thought that the worst of it was over. Apparently, she was wrong. What were the terms of her attendance going to be? She could not fathom what kind of stipulations could be placed on a student who was training to be an Auror. Would she have to maintain high grades to keep her place in the academy?

"You see," Archibald fumbled, "your stay here will be different compared to some of the other students."

"How so, sir?" Hermione prompted when the Headmaster did not proceed.

"Most times, students are grouped with their own age or year. You, on the other hand, will be roomed with an older student," he clarified.

Hermione relaxed all over again; she could handle rooming with an older student. Maybe it would even be a girl that she knew from Hogwarts.

"That is really no problem at all, Headmaster," she vowed.

"I should also add that this student is a male," he sighed, seeming as though this relay of information pained him some.

"Male?" Hermione repeated. She knew the school was co-educational, but she had thought that roommates were supposed to be of the same sex.

"This brings me to the terms of your stay," Boulstridge muttered, leaning forward and placing his hands flat on the desk. "The student that you will share a room with is, fortunately, one of our most upstanding young gentlemen here at the academy. He is very trust-worthy, so that is the reason we are allowing this mixed gender rooming to occur."

"I assure you, Headmaster, that you can trust me fully to not cause any trouble," Hermione pledged.

"Oh, I believe you, Miss Granger," he nodded. "I learned that you were a prefect at Hogwarts in both your fifth and sixth year, and had you returned for your seventh at the right time, there is no doubt that you would have been Head Girl. When I look into applicants, I really do investigate all that I can. Let me just say that I've seen marvelous things in those reports, and I expect there will be more from you once training takes up here."

"There most definitely will be."

"That's what I like to hear," the Headmaster exclaimed, pushing away from the desk and rising from his chair. "Now... shall I show you to your room? I'm afraid the other students will not arrive until tomorrow, a day before classes start, so you will have all day to unpack and settle in. I will even give you a tour of the school to help you adjust."

Hermione felt at an advantage. Other students did not get such treatment, but luck was apparently on her side in this case. Not only had she got accepted, but she would know the school grounds, buildings, and classrooms better than the other new arrivals.

It seemed that luck was turning around for Hermione. For the time being anyways.

* * *

Hermione sat on her small, twin-sized bed. She was highly absorbed in the book that Charlie had given her on the night of her acceptance to Auror Academy.

She fingered the corner of the book's pages and chewed on her lip. She flipped the page and lowered her hand to the pillow next to her. She began scraping her short nails against the fabric, but stopped when she realized what she was doing.

Hermione looked at the pale, purple striped pillow and frowned. Her fingers curled around the fabric and feathers as her chest gave the impression that it was shrinking.

She used to scratch the ears of her bushy orange cat while she read, and he laid next to her purring. But he was no more.

The very thought choked her up, and she closed the book quickly. She laid it on the chair beside her bed and swung her legs over the edge of the mattress. Her toes brushed the thin, worn carpet just as the door to her room opened.

A rush of sound came in as a tall, fair skinned, young man entered the room. He paused as he caught sight of her as well. Then he smiled and extended his hand as he crossed the room.

"Hello," he beamed, stopping before her. "I'm Cedric Diggory."

"Hi," she breathed as she took his hand and looked up into his honey brown eyes. "I'm Hermione Granger."

"Hermione Granger?" he repeated. "You're friends with Potter, aren't you?"

"Yes, I am," Hermione half laughed, wondering if Ron had felt this way when he first arrived at Auror Academy last year.

"Looks like we are roommates, then, eh?" he questioned rhetorically as he dropped a bag onto his dark blue bed.

Hermione finally made the connection that she had been trying to make since she had come into the room yesterday. The banners on the wall that were yellow and black striped were obviously meant to show support for the house of Hufflepuff at Hogwarts.

"Yes, I guess so," Hermione replied a minute later, shaking off her train of thought.

Silence filled the room as he unzipped his bag and began pulling out clothes and books. He paused as he was about to pull out his undergarments and looked back at her, making her aware that she was staring at him.

"D'you mind?" he asked in a kind manner as he shoved his hand back into the satchel, looking slightly abashed.

Hermione blushed and shook her head quickly. She stood and turned her back to him, trying to appear busy with her own bag as she shoved school books inside it for the following day.

She suddenly felt nervous all over again. Maybe sharing a room with an older male student had not been such a good idea after all. Things were turning out to be more awkward and uncomfortable than she had originally thought. Would it be possible for her switch rooms with someone? Could she possibly stay with Harry and Ron in their room?

"So, how did you get here so early?" Cedric asked as he took a seat at the adjoining desk across from Hermione's. "I could have swore that the Portkey I used from Stoatshead Hill with Potter, Weasley, and some of the others was the first one to arrive."

"I arrived yesterday by Floo Network," she answered, finally looking at him again.

Some of the weirdness ebbed away now that he was no longer holding his underwear and asking her to avert her eyes. She sat back down on the edge of her bed and ran her finger up and down the striped pattern of her comforter.

"Did you say that Ron and Harry had arrived with you?"

Cedric nodded and watched her rise from her bed.

"Do you know what room they are in?" she asked, hoping he did.

He shook his head and frowned a little while saying, "No, sorry. You can ask around, though." When her shoulders dropped visibly, he added, "You might want to start on the third or fourth floor. Considering that they are only in their second year of training, that is probably where they will be."

Hermione smiled and gave him her thanks before slipping on some shoes and heading out the door.


	9. Auror Academy

**A/N:** It has taken me far too long to update this, but I've been rather busy. Busy with what you ask? Oh, the usual and the not so usual: work, house chores, wedding plans, bridal showers, dress shopping, friends in need, writer's block, and the like. Either way, here's the update. But first... some thanks to the reviewers of chapter 8: _Bella Diggory-Cullen, pottersgirl91, Charmanth, vanillarush, ChamberlinofMusic, Vera-Sabe, Akira M, CT1994, Dramione-Fan 17, kag20, justareader7883, Rin1507, cloudnineteen, _and _Dolphin4442._ My gratitude to you lot is immense! Now the chapter....

* * *

**Chapter 9 – Auror Academy**

Hermione closed the door behind her; relief flooded her body since she was no longer alone in the room with Cedric. She leaned back against the door and let the alleviation control her for a moment.

Her original assumption about sharing a room with an older student, even if that student was male, had been that it would be simple. Headmaster Boulstridge had assured her that her roommate was an upstanding young man, which made her believe there would be no trouble at all. Hermione knew that at least part of that—the former part—was true now.

She had been acquainted with Cedric from their Hogwarts days. He had been friendly with Harry throughout the trio's fifth year. Of course, this was due to the fact that Harry had inadvertently saved Cedric from going to the graveyard with him on the night of the Triwizard Tournament's final task.

No one knew what would have happened if Cedric had been transported by the trophy Portkey with Harry, but they could guess from the younger boy's description that it would not have been good.

When the two tried to grab the trophy at the same time so that they would both be named champion, Harry's fingertips touched the metal handle just seconds before Cedric's had. Those few precious seconds had just been long enough for the Portkey to suck Harry away from the center of the maze and leave a confused Cedric standing in the darkness of the high hedges.

Therefore, once Harry returned and relayed his story, Cedric felt that he owed Harry his gratitude. From the beginning of Cedric's seventh year on, he had taken the liberty of greeting Harry in the corridors between classes. Cedric had even asked The Boy Who Lived to play Quidditch with him and his friends and to double date with him and Cho in Hogsmeade. If only Cedric had known at the time that Harry had had a crush on Cho, he probably would have thought different.

Harry's awkward friendship was not the only way that Hermione knew Cedric, though. She had been a prefect during her fifth year at Hogwarts, which was the same year Cedric had been named Head Boy. As such, Cedric had been the leader of some of the prefect meetings that year, and she had gotten a brief glimpse at his personality because of it. Hence, she knew enough about him to know that he had been an excellent student and probably still was.

Surely she could trust him since he had been so respectable and rule-abiding before.

She sighed heavily, drawing in a deep breath so that it expanded her chest to its fullest extent.

Maybe once they got to know each other and got over the initial awkwardness of sharing a room, things would even out.

It was possible that this was a rather big surprise to him, and she had never thought about that until now. Had he been notified in any way about the fact that he would be sharing a room with not only a younger student, but a female one at that?

_Surely Boulstridge would have said something to him, sent a letter, or something_, she thought to herself as she pushed her way around a group of boys who were laughing and joking in the corridor.

Hermione turned the corner at the end of the hall and started up the worn, carpeted stairs. She reached the third floor in seconds and was about to walk up to a boy struggling to get his trunk in the door of his room when someone exited the room beside where she was standing. They bumped into her, sending her slightly off balance.

She staggered, but kept shaky control as she glanced over at them.

It was a tall, raven-haired boy with pale, icy blue eyes. He seemed surprised by her presence there, but immediately recomposed himself and closed the book in his hand.

"I'm sorry," he apologized, holding out his free hand in an offer to shake. "I can be such a klutz sometimes... especially when I have my nose in a good book."

He smiled a dazzling, lopsided grin, and Hermione completely forgot she was in the dormitory corridor with him offering her his hand. His smile turned into a frown as she just stood there looking dazed. He retracted his gesture and locked both hands around the binding of his book.

"Are you all right?"

Hermione opened her mouth to answer him, but the voice that filled the air was not her own.

"Oy! Hermione!" called Ron from down the long, door-lined passageway. "What are you doing?"

She shook herself out of her stupor and glanced from the individual next to her to the redhead down the hall.

"Sorry," she muttered to the raven-haired boy, giving an awkward, but polite half smile.

Hermione continued down the corridor, flattening herself against the wall as a group of young men charged by her with jets of water spraying from their wands. They sprayed Ron directly in the face, but purely by mishap, earning them a shouted string of profanities as they continued to race away from him.

If Hermione had expected Auror Academy to be any less juvenile and childish than Hogwarts, she had fooled herself.

Straightening up, she pushed away from the wall and shook her head as Harry poked his own head out of the room.

"Who are barking at this time?" he asked his redheaded friend.

Ron grumbled something that neither of them could hear, but they had a feeling that they would not want to either because he still seemed to have a foul disposition as he wiped his face on his shirt sleeve.

"Everything going all right, Hermione?" Harry asked, stepping back to let her in the room.

She hesitated at the doorway; the smell of something rancid wafted out of the room towards her.

"What _is_ that?" she asked, pulling the collar of her shirt up over her nose.

Harry shrugged as he looked around the room, which appeared as though pack rats lived there.

Clothing was scattered hither and tither. There was a noticeable-sized, brown stain on the middle of the floor. The two beds that were pushed up against one wall, foot board-to-foot board were unmade and rumpled. A chess set was scattered about on the floor on the other side of the room where two desks sat side-by-side, against the wall. A white rook and a black knight from the set lay battling still. The trash can in the corner was overflowing and had flies and one Billywig buzzing about it.

Hermione was certain that Mrs. Weasley would have—as the wizarding saying went—had a hippogriff upon seeing the room. It was more than a disaster, and Hermione could not fathom how they studied or found clean clothes to wear.

She looked between the two and decided by the state of their current attire that they did not worry about clean clothes.

"How do you _live_ in this?" she hissed incredulously. "Boys," she added a moment later with an exasperated sigh. "This is disgusting!"

She immediately pulled out her new wand, which was eleven and a half inches and made of willow with a dragon heartstring core. She aimed it at the beds first, swishing and flicking her wrist with a stiffness that could only be duplicated by Mrs. Weasley.

The sheets jumped to life, floating in midair like a flying carpet. They drifted gently and neatly down onto the beds as the pillows fluffed themselves. The comforters pulled taut in midair as well, following the example of the sheets as they dropped perfectly onto the bed.

"Hey!" Ron protested. "I like it better when it's all messed up!"

Hermione paid no attention to him, though as she turned her wand on the chess pieces, which stood at attention. She levitated each piece into its position on the checkered board and then swung her arm in the direction of the trash bin. The rubbish crunched and compacted and the bag tied itself over the waste.

The flies buzzed angrily and the Billywig zoomed out the open window as Hermione spun around. A tornado of clothing followed her wand tip.

Ron gasped in repulsion as one of Harry's dirty socks smacked him full in the face, "Watch it!"

Hermione went on without taking heed of his warning, though.

The clothing that was now hovering in a rather sizable pile near her wand tip was sent to an open trunk under the window.

"Hermione! Those clothes were clean, too!" Harry groaned.

"Too bad. From the smell of things, they needed to be cleaned either way," she shrugged. "Just be sure to take them to the basement later today so that you will both have something clean and decent to wear tomorrow."

"The basement?" Ron inquired, sounding perplexed.

"Yes, the basement. There is a laundry room down there," Hermione explained. She had witnessed the entire building and all its services yesterday on her tour with Archibald.

Hermione had been relieved to see that the Auror Academy did not employ elves for their dirty work, but was a self-service instead. Each student was responsible for their own clean clothes. And the food was prepared by a staff of two witches and one wizard. Each of whom was in charge of a row of stoves and enchanted cookery.

Needless to say, Hermione had been impressed. This school was fair to the rights among magical species. No one creature served another, much like what had taken place at Hogwarts.

Despite Hogwarts amiable nature towards the elves it employed, Hermione had disapproved and tried to free the hard-working souls. She was even more pleased with the idea that she would not have to taint her behavior here and tempt the Headmaster's patience by sewing tea cozies or leaving hats and socks lying around to trick the staff into freedom. However, she would still continue her S.P.E.W. efforts in another manner.

Hermione dropped down onto Harry's bed and smiled at her handiwork. The room still smelled slightly, but the open window and the breeze that freewheeled into the room would soon cure that.

Harry sat down beside Hermione, and Ron perched himself on one of the chairs near the desks.

"You never did say how your trip with Ginny to Romania went, Harry," Hermione prompted. "Did you two have a nice time?"

"Yeah," Harry mumbled, picking at the corner of a poster hanging over his headboard. He had gotten it from the concert he had attended with Ginny.

"Did you get to see dragons?" Hermione proceeded to quiz.

"Yeah," Harry monotoned. "Charlie took us into work with him one day, and we got to feed hatchlings and take measurements on unmothered eggs."

"Unmothered eggs?" Hermione repeated.

"Eggs who had no dragon care, ones that were purely hand raised by witches and wizards," Ron butt in. "Charlie expressed his outrage on the issue before; he said that far too many eggs were becoming unmothered because of wizards hunting dragons for their blood and hides."

"Charlie didn't mention his friend on the matter, did he?" Harry chuckled.

Hermione and Ron glanced at their bespectacled friend and waited patiently for him to explain the bashful grin spreading across his features.

"No," Ron actuated.

"Some brunette... She was making big, brown goo-goo eyes at Charlie over an incubator the whole time we were feeding the hatchlings," Harry elaborated. "Charlie seems pretty taken with her, too... He was blushing and everything. Laughed more than normal and really tried to fill Ginny and me in on dragon knowledge because it seemed to impress her more than us."

Ron shrugged and shifted his weight back in his chair. He threw his heels up onto the desk and tucked his hands behind his head, saying, "That ought to please Bill. If Mum gets wind of Charlie dating someone, she'll start hounding him to bring her home to meet the family or popping in on him to try and catch a glimpse or chance meeting of this girl."

"Don't think that you'll be the one to break the news," Harry warned as Ron got a mischievous gleam in his eye.

"Why?" the redhead demanded, slightly upset at having his store of ammo against his mother taken away.

"Ginny plans on using it as a distraction when your Mum gets upset about hearing that Ginny is going to play Quidditch. She said that if Mrs. Weasley tries to stop her, she's going to tell her that she should be more worried about Charlie and his soon-to-be girlfriend," Harry explained.

"That is not very nice," Hermione interjected. "Look at what Charlie did for her, and she is going to repay him by outting him to Mrs. Weasley?" Hermione's tone was highly disapproving and even a little irritated. She hated injustice like this.

"I told her the same," Harry mentioned.

"It's juvenile," Ron grumbled. "Ginny always di--"

"Oh!" Hermione snapped. "You would have done the same, Ronald!"

The freckle-faced boy sitting across the room looked aggravated for a moment and then his expression changed to an abashed one.

Silence fell over them, wrapping itself tight around the trio. This was the first time that Hermione truly felt out of place with the boys that she had known as her best friends.

"You will never guess who I am rooming with," Hermione muttered lowly, trying to draw their sincere attention.

"Who?" Harry asked with genuine curiosity.

"Cedric Diggory."

"What?" Ron erupted. "Really? How? Why?"

"Calm down, Ron," Harry laughed. "Let her explain."

"The Headmaster said that it was his only choice. He—along with Kingsley—really wanted me at the academy, but...," here Hermione shrugged, "the only room that was available for me was with Cedric."

"How? How?" Ron asked in outrage. "Why is it that she can get lucky enough to not only be let into the academy, but also get roomed with the opposite sex?"

Harry shrugged and looked to Hermione, who was now glaring at Ron.

"Although," the redhead added a second later with a completely different tone, "I do feel sorry for Diggory."

"Feel sorry for him?" Hermione practically shrieked, shooting up off the bed as though someone had lit a fire under her. "Why would you feel sorry for him?" she demanded with out of control fury as she stomped across the room toward Ron.

"B--"

"You know what? I feel sorry for Harry!" she yelled.

"Wha--"

"Do not even speak to me!" she hissed. Hermione huffed and shook her head at him before turning and storming out. Ron always ruined everything!

* * *

She stirred the next morning, rubbing her face against the pillow, and sitting up slowly. She gazed around the room, blinking and squinting through the bright sunlight that filtered into the blind slats. Her groggy, sleep-hindered eyes landed on the bed across the room.

Cedric was still in bed. His hair was tasseled and sticking up above the comforter that he hugged to his chest and buried his face in.

Hermione was suddenly aware of her own bushy, unruly hair and jumped out of bed. She began running a brush through the tangles, hissing and whimpering quietly in protest until she gave up and muttered a spell. She quickly grabbed some clothes and slipped out of the room and down the corridor to the girls' lavatory.

She entered the restroom and felt herself feeling out of place. There were half a dozen stalls, a large shower with six shower heads, and a row of just as many sinks. However, she would be the only one using this bathroom.

Boulstridge explained that the dormitory that Hermione was in was for all boys, so they had to make accommodations for her. This meant taking one of the two bathrooms on the second floor and turning into a ladies' room for her.

Hermione glanced back at the door behind her and felt her stomach twist. What if some guy failed to notice that this lavatory was no longer for male use and walked in on her? What if that guy was Ron or Harry? How embarrassing would that be?

She shook the thought from her head. Harry and Ron used the facilities on their floor, not this one. This floor was meant for older students, like second and third years. She had been in the process of placing her clothes on the counter top when she froze with that thought. It would be even more mortifying if an older student that she did not know walked in on her.

She rushed over to the door and whispered a charm to lock the door to outsiders. But when she turned, she wondered something else. What if someone was already in here? What if they were hiding, and she did not realize it?

She glanced to the stalls and stared for a moment before feeling completely stupid. Why on earth was she worrying like this? Surely Archibald would have taken care of such concerns. And if she did not tend to her own business, she would be late for her first day of classes. Certainly she did not want that to happen.

Sighing, Hermione grabbed her shower necessities and began to brace and ready herself for the day.

* * *

He cursed himself and his luck as he trudged through the underbrush of the overgrown woods. He had almost had Hermione Granger. She had been standing only yards from him in a room below. He had had a perfect shot at her, but those Aurors and the redheaded weasel had foiled his attempt to bring her both pain and eventual death.

His temper boiled below the surface, and his aggravation was tangible in the atmosphere around him.

He yanked his sleeve away from the gnarled, reaching fingers of a thorny branch, which only made him even more irritated. His uncle would have never let this forest get like this. He had always kept things trimmed and prim. Of course, that was long ago, when they chased house-elves as game through these parts of the forest.

That had been one of his favorite pastimes, hunting house-elves through the forest at all hours of the day. And as he recalled nights and afternoons when he would blast bark from trees in attempts to scare the creatures before dealing them unbearable amounts of pain, he smirked. He would be sure to make the Mudblood suffer the same fate as a precursor to her slow, agonizing death.

But for now, he would satiate his appetite for blood-curdling screams and torturous games with the people who now lived in his uncle's old mansion.


	10. Reclaiming Home

**A/N:** So... forever, eh? Yeah, thought so. Anyways... some thank yous are in order. Many gracious amounts of appreciation to the following: _ChamberlinofMusic, Twilight-in-Texas, Idle Writer of Crack, Winter's Empire, Vera-Sabe, Dolphin4442, Rin1507, pottersgirl91, justareader7883, Dramione-Fan 17, CT1994,_ and_ Risottonocheese._ With that now said, I have one more thing that I want to add: The character introduced at the end of the chapter named Chau Chang is modeled after a dear friend of mine. His name really is Chau (CT1994), and he has been a major encouragement while I've been in the writing process. Kudos to him and be sure to stop by his page and tell him how much you love his character. (wink)

* * *

**Chapter 10 – Reclaiming Home**

Cedric rolled over and glanced groggily around from under his covers.

The bed across the room was empty, which meant that his new roommate, Hermione Granger, was already awake.

He sat up slowly, his movements almost catlike as he hunched his back, willing the muscles there to stretch and warm themselves from their stiffened state. His arms reached wide, flexing more muscles and making the covers fall away from his body. His legs swung over the edge of the bed and his feet tingled as they brushed the carpeted floor. He stood and rolled his head from one side to the other, resulting in a series of small pops and cracks.

Cedric shuffled towards the trunk at the foot of his bed as he ruffled his thick, matted locks of honey-colored hair. He glanced to the clock on the wall as he dug in his trunk for something suitable for the first day of classes. He had but fifteen minutes to make his way down to Mr. Leaks class for Auror defensive counter-curse and charm training. Today would, of course, be a refresher of previous material so that the professor could be sure they were ready to move on, but nonetheless, it would not do to be late.

He pulled on fresh clothes and combed his fingers through his hair, wincing as he picked through the knots. He grabbed his wand and books before strolling out into the corridor.

As he made his way to his first training lesson of the new year, he thought about his new roommate. It was odd to share a room with a girl, but Cedric had not expected things to be quite so awkward. He had, of course, anticipated the initial shock of the situation, but he had hoped that it would wear off sooner than it seemed it was going to.

Last night she had returned to the room before he had. When he arrived, she was sprawled on her bed, nibbling on a Licorice Wand, and intently reading the book before her. She had only glanced up at him for a second as he closed the door before turning the page and continuing to devour the open volume. Hermione did not utter one word of greeting nor did she even nod to acknowledge him. She simply kept quiet as he took a seat at his desk and began scribbling down a letter to his mother.

As he continued to jot down assurances that he had returned to school in one solid piece—his mother had worried ever since the Triwizard Tournament about Portkey travel—Hermione scanned another chapter of her book without much more noise than the occasional rattle of candy paper or a stifled yawn. Her silence had begun to make him wonder how she had ever made friends at Hogwarts. Had the girls in her dorm at the wizarding school suffered the same treatment he had undergone? And had she always retired so early to the pillows and covers of her small twin bed?

She had remained awake only an hour after his return. He had felt uneasy, sitting at his desk with his lamp glowing bright in the somewhat humble space they shared, while she had tried to escape from their strained silence to a world of soft slumber. Was every night to be like that? Or would they eventually grow out of the abnormal feelings and difficulty of sharing a room?

He huffed out a breath, which appeared as smoke in the morning chill. Cedric had no more time to ponder this as he peeked at his watch. He had five minutes left to get to class, and if he was late, he would not only hear it from his teacher, but from his father as well.

* * *

Gray-blue eyes surveyed the damage that the Muggles had done to his home. They had called it 'remodeling', but he called it an abomination. His childhood bedroom had been painted a soft, subtle pastel pink and adorned with stuffed toys for the little girl who lay silent in the living room downstairs. Other rooms had been desecrated with their Muggle filth and changes as well.

Fine marble fireplaces had been deemed unsafe for the bratty children and altered so that their warm, crackling fires could no longer be lit and bask the high-ceilinged rooms in their warm glow. Wallpaper had been ripped from the walls where it had been for generations, and disgusting modern paint styles and newer wallpaper replaced it. The house no longer resembled his childhood home. The home of his uncle. The childhood home of his mother. How his uncle would explode in a fit of rage at the very sight of it.

The man's heart wrenched and tears flowed mercilessly from his eyes as he let out an anguished cry. The one place that had connected him with his mother, regardless of her death, had been this home; the home where they had both grown up. She had walked these halls, sat before the bright, cordial fireplaces, and danced with his father at grand parties his grandparents have given in the large rooms downstairs. Now the home no longer corresponded with those ghosts, those forged memories he had of her and her beauty.

Rage shook him and his tears dried up as he clenched his jaw. A feral snarl ripped from his lips, and he began throwing everything in sight. Toys, trinkets, a child's table and chairs. With each loud crash and break came another explosion of fury and psychotic disbelief. How could they have felt justified to move into this home and destroy it as they had?

When he had exhausted himself, he dropped to his knees amid the carnage and shook despite the heat flowing under his skin. In that silent moment, he heard a cry. A small whimper, like that of a child, and a nauseating gleam came to his eye as his lips folded back from his teeth in a ferocious, malicious grin. One of his victims had awoken. And from the sounds of it, the small boy was trying to wake his already dead parents so that his twin sister and they could escape the crazed man's wrath.

Well, there would be no escape tonight. And there would certainly be no mercy.

The gray-blue eyed man rose and stumbled his way into the hallway, where the cries grew louder and more frantic. The floorboards creaked and shifted under the man's weight as he walked slowly and deliberately down the corridor to the stairs. The whimpering of the boy stopped and the shadow his body cast on the wall froze. Gray-blue eyes locked on the shadow of the boy as steps groaned with the descent of the man.

The child shook his mother's limp body again, choking on panicked tears as the squeaking of the stairs grew louder and closer.

"M-M-Mum!" he hiccuped, his heart skipping a beat when the noise from the hallway stopped. Where was the man that had intruded upon their dinner?

The child did not dare to look over his shoulder out of fear of seeing the man towering in the doorway to the room. Instead, the boy scrambled across the floor, half crawling as he stumbled with numb legs. He reached his sister's tiny, lax figure and grabbed one of her arms and one of her legs. Pulling, he tugged her inch by inch across the floor to an end table draped in burgundy fabric.

Pushing her comatose body now, he tried to conceal her under the table's cover. Then he scampered behind the couch, hoping the stranger would not look between it and the wall and discover him hiding there. With trembling fingers, the boy reached under the heavy material of the tablecloth and grabbed his sister's cold, unmoving fingers. He squeezed them when he heard the floorboards across the room let out a slow, deep moan.

The stranger stood in the doorway of the newly transformed living room. His eyes laid intently, unblinkingly upon a child-sized, black Mary Jane shoe sticking out from under the end table. Those gray-blue orbs shifted slightly to the dark space between the back of the hideous couch and the wall. He knew that the boy cowered there.

He had been readying himself to step over the parents and rip the child from his hiding place when a plan most devious and awful came to his mind.

His head turned slowly, his gaze landing on the lifeless body of the mother. Her auburn curls were flayed out about her head like rays protruding from the sun. The light played in her locks as he turned and crouched next to her. The intruder reached out a calloused hand and ran his rough, unclean fingertips down her smooth, cool cheek. Death had claimed her hours ago, and she already had the pallor of a peaceful corpse.

He pulled out his wand, and with one last glance at the shoe sticking out from under the burgundy fabric and the unseen little boy, he cast a spell that would bring only the sick and twisted enjoyment.

The corpse that had been a loving, laughing mother earlier that day twitched and sat up, hazy eyes doing a ghostly intake of the room. Stumbling with ill-coordination, she got to her feet and staggered to the end table.

A whimper issued from behind the couch and a shuffling was heard as the boy tried to scoot further into the shadows to hide from what he thought was the strange man who had wrecked his home in mere minutes. He then felt the tug of his twin's frigid digits being pulled from his own. He clenched them hard, thinking that the man was taking his sister, yet he made no move to reveal himself.

Hunching into the shadows, he bit his lip and swallowed back tears as he hugged his empty arms around his torso. Then he shivered, more out of fright than loneliness or cold. A silhouette was shrinking on the wall, which meant it was getting closer to his haven. However, this silhouette was the wrong shape for the man who had terrorized both him and his doting family.

Relief came in a swift, cleansing, and joyous flood and had the boy almost bubbling with laughter. His mother's hand was reaching into the shadows for him. He should have recognized her shadow on the wall from all the nights he remembered watching it cross his bedroom to comfort him from countless nightmares.

Crawling forward with haste, he placed his hand in hers and allowed her to pull him from the darkness behind the couch. Even as he felt more alleviation tingle in his body to be going from one lonely shelter to his mother's caressing arms, he sensed something was wrong.

His father was still lying immobile on the floor and his sister was laid oddly on the couch, as though her body was disjointed.

He looked up to his mother to ask her if they were going to wake his father and sister and if they were going to call the cops on the man who had broke into their home, but he stopped. Something was wrong. In fact, something was terribly wrong. The look on his mother's face showed no expression. Why was she not scooping him up into her arms and cuddling him out of sheer relief to see him alive? Why did she have that distant, glazed look in her eyes?

His mother's head snapped in the direction of his sister, whose body was now twitching on the couch. She sat up slowly and turned to look at them.

"Jenny!" the boy squealed excitedly. He tried to pull his hand away from his mother so that he could run over to his sister, but her grip became crushing. He cried out in protest as his twin rose from the couch and approached him. "Jenny," he grunted, still trying to wrench his hand away from his mother's now painful grasp. "Mum! It hurts!"

His mother released him and the boy's hand tingled as blood rushed to his numb fingertips. He turned to his twin and began rubbing away the blood that was trailing down her cheek from her left temple. He wiped his bloodstained hand on his shirt, leaving a large red streak down the front of him.

"Let's wake Dad," the boy suggested, his eyes darting from his sister's downcast face to his mother's uncaring, distant gaze.

As the child turned to approach his father, his mother lashed out and snatched up his arm in her grasp.

"Ouch!" came his cry, and he turned to begin clawing at his mother's hand. She was hurting him again, and it was so unlike her. She had never done anything like this before. "Let go!" he demanded, tears spilling over onto his round, splotched cheeks.

His mother's other hand reached up, and she curled her fingers in his hair, pulling his scalp taut. A squeal of complain issued from his lips as his mother dragged him across the room. Jenny followed, her hands folding curtly in front of her as though she were doing nothing more than following a butterfly through a beautiful garden. Jenny's twin screamed again as hair tore from his scalp when his mother shoved him into a chair.

"Stop!" he cried, sniffling loudly and squirming as his mother moved her iron-like grip to his shoulder.

Jenny stood before him for a moment, surveying her brother with mock innocence. She smiled a shifty grin that he had never seen before as she turned and grabbed a candle from the shelf.

Wax dripped down the sides as she carried it back to her brother. Grabbing the candlestick and squishing wax between her fingers, she shoved the lit end of the candle to his damp cheek.

An earsplitting howl leaped from his throat as the candlewick sizzled out against his delicate skin. A blister formed almost immediately and the pain made his head reel. Nausea heaved inside his small stomach as a giggle trickled out from behind Jenny's lips. Salt from his tears stung his wound as his twin reached up a dainty hand, her fingers outstretched towards the mark she had just made.

He tried to turn away, but he only succeeded in bringing himself more pain as he brushed his cheek against the back of the chair. His breath hitched, and he tried to turn the other way, but Jenny's hand swung back. In a split second, there was a garish slap of flesh-on-flesh, and he screamed again. His beloved sibling had struck his maimed cheek.

"Jenny, no," he whimpered pitifully. His eyes welled with tears again, and through the watery blur, he saw the intruder standing in the doorway. "Mama!" As the scream shakily left the boy's lips, he squirmed in the chair.

"It'll do you no good," the stranger cautioned with a malicious gleam in his eye.

He pulled out a strange instrument; it was a long, wooden, knotted rod. The man flicked it carelessly at Jenny, causing her to freeze for a split second and drop to the floor.

Jenny's twin brother whimpered, watching his sister die a second time without knowing that she had really only been an Inferius. He writhed in the chair, trying to wriggle out of his mother's grasp so that he could run away from the approaching demonic intruder, who flicked the stick in his mother's direction.

She, too, dropped to the ground as her grip on her petrified son slackened. The boy glanced back and saw his mother's lifeless body splayed on the floor behind his chair. Another Inferius who had run her useful course.

"Don't worry," the man growled with a low, threatening tone, "you'll join them soon enough."

Shivers raced up the boy's spine, and he turned back around to stare at the man who destroyed his home. Goosebumps erupted up and down his arms and legs. Bile rose in his throat as the man aimed the wand at him. Death was staring him in the face.

"Before you join them, however, I think I'll make you feel the pain and punishment I have felt these many years." He flicked his wand and the boy screamed, his body jerking and twitching oddly in his seat until he toppled to the floor. "That was only a taste of the hurt I felt at losing my mother."

The child panted and the pain made his head reel as though it were a precious glass ornament placed precariously on the edge of a wobbly table. Bile rose again, and this time, he could not hold it back. Sick landed on the floor in a putrid puddle, splattering him and the shoes of the man standing over him.

"And this is a fraction of the torture I felt when I lost my grandparents," he hissed, casting his awful, muscle-burning spell on the boy's small body again. "This is partly how I felt when I lost my uncle."

With his body riving in a fiery anguish, the child lost control of himself as he flopped about the floor like a fish out of water. He rolled about in his own vomit and felt heat and wetness seep down his legs as he soiled himself.

"Had enough yet?"

When his question was met with only aching cries, he smirked in a delirious fashion while glaring down his nose at the boy's shaking body.

"You should know before I kill you that you and your family will rot in the deepest, darkest part of the basement I can find to shove your bodies in," he taunted, poking his wand in the child's back as he lay in the fetal position.

The man stood then, holding his head high whilst he extended his arm and pointed his wand at his victim.

"Avada Kedavra!"

In a flash of blinding green light, the child's life was finally taken. However, the man felt no alleviation of remorse or regret or guilt for what the filthy Muggles had done to his uncle's home. His rage with the invasive, inferior beings was not satisfied. And as he looked around, he felt anger reclaim his chest and constrict his lungs so that his breath came in heavy, feral pants through gritted teeth.

Hermione Granger would have to wait. For now, he needed to restore his uncle's home to its former glory. He needed to pay homage and show respect by fixing what the Muggles had desecrated. His uncle's memory would live on, even if it meant putting off his revenge to do so.

* * *

Cedric leaned in the doorway of his room and smiled. His girlfriend was perched in a carefree style on his desk. Her face and golden hair lit warmly from the sun that filtered into the window on her left.

She did not take notice of him as he studied her slender, petite figure. He noted the way her long neck curved as she gazed out the window at the students in the courtyard. Her eyes were fringed in sun-bleached lashes that reflected the light nicely. She was a summer beauty, that much he was sure of.

She crossed her legs lazily and flicked a finger over a picture frame that held a photo of Cedric and his childhood friends from their Hogwarts days. She was about to pick up Diggory's quill when a voice from the hallway caught both their attentions.

"Cedric!"

Diggory turned and caught sight of a short, fair-skinned boy headed his way. Cedric would have known the voice without seeing the Asian face, which he had not truthfully seen since Christmas break of his sixth year at Hogwarts.

"Chau," Cedric greeted as the eager-eyed boy walked up to him. "What are you doing here?"

"I always said that I would become an Auror," Chau replied.

Cedric smiled at him.

Chau Chang was Cho's cousin. Her uncle had been a field professor, and his area of study had been dangerous magical beings. On one particular case, Cho's uncle had been on a trip to Romania to study vampires in one of their most natural habitats. While there, he unintentionally found himself falling for one of his case studies, a female vampire. Before long, the two were married and expecting Chau.

"So I take it that this is your first year here, then, hmm?" Diggory inquired as Chau followed him into his room, where Cedric's girlfriend stood curiously gazing at the pair.

"Yes," Chang answered, watching Cedric with adoring eyes.

Diggory dropped his books onto his desk, giving his girlfriend a peck on the cheek as he moved past her to sit down.

"Who might this be, Ced?" she asked as she glanced back at her boyfriend and gestured to Chau.

"This is Chau Chang. He's a student here now," Diggory replied. "Chau... this is Bethany Spencer, my girlfriend."

Chau looked her over and gave a curt smile. "I still say Cho was stupid for letting you go," he added as he looked back at the older boy.

"Cho?" Bethany repeated.

"My cousin," Chang answered. "She and Cedric used to date when they were in Hogwarts together. Cho left him, however... Rather stupid of her, if you ask me."

"Oh," Bethany muttered, not knowing whether she should feel irritated with the bit of news or not.

"Chau and I have remained friends, though," Cedric interrupted, trying to steer the conversation back toward more placid topics.

"Luckily enough," the younger boy replied, his large, dark eyes lighting up with appreciation for the fact that they were friends.

"How did you like the first day here at the academy?" Diggory quizzed, flipping open one of his books and appearing bored.

"It was a bit stiff and quiet," Chau frowned. His usual friendly nature preferred a more talkative, open atmosphere. He was often a center for attention—without intent, of course. His bright charm was the reason behind this. "I'm sure things will get better, though."

"That's the spirit," Cedric encouraged. "Once classes begin picking up, you'll feel more at ease."

The conversation was becoming dull, and Chau sighed at this. Then he perked. "I heard some rather intriguing news today..." When Cedric simply eyed him, he continued, "About a certain someone and their new roomy."

At this, Bethany convalesced from her uninterested state. She, too, had heard some rather disturbing chatter about her boyfriend and his new dorm partner.

"Oh?" Cedric chuckled, knowing where Chau was heading.

"So, is it true? Spill!" Chang demanded with a face-splitting grin.

"Well," Cedric began on an amused sigh, but stopped as he looked up at the open door.

As if to answer for him, Hermione walked in with Neville in tow.

"I'll let you borrow my book on tracking," Neville finished as they entered the room. He stopped talking as he and Hermione paused in the doorway to survey Cedric and his two companions.

"Confirmed," Chau snickered and rose to greet Hermione. "Hello! I'm Chau Chang, a friend of Cedric's."

"Hi," Hermione returned. She accepted his hand with some uncertainty. "Hermione Granger."

"Oh, I know. I've heard of you," he mentioned, waving off her self-introduction. "Well, that's not to say I have heard of you in a bad way. It's just there's rumors going around the school about a girl in the boys' dormitory."

"That would be me," Hermione sighed, feeling slightly embarrassed.

"You are too lucky! I can't believe that you get to share a room with Cedric," Chau whispered to her, excitement filling his tone. "I'm jealous of you," he added on a laugh.

Hermione seemed taken aback by the comment as she gaped at the striking Asian before her. She peered around him after a second to glanced at Cedric, who was watching the exchange with calm gray eyes.

"Should I tell Harry and Ron that you will be up in a moment, Hermione?" Neville asked, breaking up the silence in the room.

"Yes, Neville. Please do," she nodded somewhat uncertainly. "I just need to put my books away."

Hermione looked back over her shoulder and watched Neville leave before turning back to look at Chau, who was now perked cheerfully at her desk. He was watching Cedric speak to his girlfriend about a tavern in town.

Hermione sighed and ignored the situation, figuring it best to just drop off her bag of books and slip out without much more notice. She snatched up her coin purse from her trunk and tried to quickly exited the room.

"You're leaving?" Chau called out, seeming disheartened. "I had hoped we could have a nice chat."

"I'm sorry," Hermione fumbled. "It's just that I promised my friends I would go into town with them. They promised to show me around."

"Another time, then, maybe?"

"Sure," Hermione smiled, feeling a fondness for Chau already.


	11. Childish Behavior

**A/N: **It has been some while since I last updated. Then again, I've been quite the busy girl... buying a house with my best friend, working, calling schools for the upcoming fall quarter, changing majors, becoming the understudy to my coven's high priestess, doing things with family and friends for the summer. Junk like that. But that's not what you're here to hear about. So I'll give each of the following my thanks and let you read: _ChamberlinofMusic, Winter's Empire, pottersgirl91, Tate Dean, Dolphin4442, CT1994, justareader7883, Rin1507, Dramione-Fan 17, Katherine-Alexis-Tyler-'K.A.T.', Elliesmeow, _and _Mystic Rains._

**

* * *

Chapter 11 – Childish Behavior**

He woke with a jolt. Another nightmare again. He could not escape the terrors of his sleep.

Sitting forward in the dusty, moth-eaten Victorian armchair, he placed his tumbler on the table beside the chipped crystal decanter. He gazed at the fireplace, which was once again in working order, but no fire was lit there. Instead, the gray light of morning was creeping in between a split in the thick, velvet curtains.

Squinting against the unpleasant brilliance, he rose from his chair and stretched with taut, tired muscles and aching bones. It was not as though he were truly that old. In fact, he was only twenty-nine, soon to be thirty in two months.

It surprised him to think of how quickly time had passed since he had reclaimed his uncle's home. Then again, the repairs and renovations to undo what the Muggles had done was not by any means easy. He was still thanking his lucky stars that he had been able to find most of the furniture in the basement or attic.

The time it had taken him to carefully strip and peel away newer wallpaper so that he could restore the old was lengthy and drawn out in and of itself. But there had been other fixtures, too. Removing furniture and toys and dishes left behind by the filthy non-magical beings, whose corpses now rotted in a trunk in his basement.

The house was once again as his uncle had liked, a manner which he, himself, had come to appreciate. Things were grand, even though they could use a good dusting.

Aged Victorian furnishings adorned each room, dispelling dust with the slightest of movement in them. Moth-eaten tapestries in an array of deep wine-colors or dark shades of gemstones obscured each and every window. Trinkets, foe glasses, family portraits, books on the Dark Arts, cursed heirlooms, and many other things were sat back in their places on shelves and mantles and hung properly on the walls once more.

He had spent the entire summer putting the house back to rights, restoring it to what it had been—or as close as it had been—when he had roamed the corridors as a child.

Yet something was still amiss.

He could not stand to enter any rooms where the portraits might speak to him. He had once loved to sit in his mother's room and listen to her enchanted painting hum soothing lullabies, but he felt sorrow at them now instead of comfort. He could not bare to gaze upon his uncle's likeness either. In fact, he had made certain to keep all photographs and paintings out of the room he was currently occupying.

He had a feeling that he would not be able to lay eyes upon the portraits of any of his family members until he had secured the final measures of his revenge, which entailed the torture and death of one Hermione Granger.

* * *

The beginning of the semester at Auror Academy had moved on as quickly as the days of summer. Hermione had barely noticed how the days became longer and the nights warmer as she poured over book after book and paper after paper. She studied tracking and disguise as well as counter curses and useful charms.

When she had not been sweating over a book or chewing nervously on her quill, she was either in class, skulking around the library, or begrudgingly following Harry, Ron, Neville, and a few other friends to the town near the academy campus. Ron confessed many times that he never seen Hermione take school quite so seriously, not even while she had attended Hogwarts.

At nights she was exhausted, but proud because her teachers praised her efforts and her classmates asked her for tips on studying or improvement.

It would seem that things had been going smoother than she ever could have anticipated, but that was not entirely true. In fact, as the summer days had dawned from spring's fresh beauty and then melted away under the heat of the sun, Hermione's irritation with her roommate grew.

He was continually picking little arguments or doing things to annoy her. His girlfriend stayed late, and this meant that Hermione had to endure many moments of Bethany fawning over her boyfriend. As if that was not enough, Cedric was careless with where he discarded clothing, books, quills, papers, and candy wrappers. And even worse than that was the fact that the silence and awkwardness between the two—or at least from Hermione's side of things—had not eased.

Ron had tried to reason with her in a macho way by declaring that Cedric was, of course, a male, so he could not be expected to keep to her girlish standards of living. Her friend proceeded to explain as he had stretched out and placed his feet up on her desk that men needed mess and chaos to feel at home and in control. His many idiotic musings and pieces of advice had only snagged at Hermione's carpet of irritation, though.

After throwing Ron and Harry out of the room, Hermione had set to work on gathering all of Cedric's things and dumping them on his bed.

Now, here she sat upon her own mattress, staring at the aesthetically mortifying mess of wrappers, broken quills, clothes, and other such debris. She glanced at the clock on the wall next to the door and huffed; she was one hour late for her study group with Chau and a few other classmates. With a fiery determination, Hermione rose in a fluster and began rifling through the books in her trunk. She was going to insure that Cedric's unruly way of living never interfered with her school habits again.

* * *

Cedric walked briskly down the corridor to his dorm, his best mates tagging along beside him and trying to persuade him to play Quidditch with them later that evening.

"I promised Bethany I would go into town with her to meet her cousin," Diggory explained for the dozenth time. "She is really looking forward to this double date thing, so I cannot let her down... Sorry, guys!"

"Jus' tell 'er ya can't," pleaded the tallest of the group. "Bethany's a great sheila, she'll understand."

"Not happening," Cedric said gravely while shaking his head, but a smile still stretched his lips. "I'll play tomorrow or next weekend."

"Just like Diggory to do as a lady requests," chastised another of his friends.

"You better get into her knickers soon for blowing us off like this," teased a blond-haired boy as he fell against the wall next to Cedric's dorm door.

"Don't talk about her like that," Diggory sighed as he opened his door slowly.

"Tomorrow, then, ya say?" confirmed the towering youth.

"Yeah, tomorrow," Cedric nodded, slipping inside.

He wandered across the room in the last waning rays of the setting sun. He dropped his school bag down beside his desk and turned to drop down on his bed, but was confronted with a mess instead.

Cedric flipped on the light upon his desk and gazed in confusion at the heap of miscellaneous things mounted on his mattress. He turned a full circle, staring at the floor as he did, before looking back at the mound.

"Granger," he grumbled, picking up a broken quill off the top of the junk and pitching it over his shoulder. He let out a yelp soon after, though, as it bounced back and stuck in the back of his leg.

Diggory bent and snatched up the quill in his fist, crunching and crumbling it even more as he glared at Hermione's neat and tidy half of the room. His eyes were slits of calculation as he reached blindly behind him and pulled out a sock from the mountain of things. Balling it up, he threw it roughly at his roommate's bed and watched as the wadded up sock hit an invisible wall and dropped to the floor.

Teeth clenched, Cedric grabbed a shirt and mimicked his previous action with the sock, only to get the same effect.

Anger was not an emotion that often bubbled over in Cedric, but this time Hermione Granger had pushed him to a new limit.

He stormed forward, intent upon scattering her belongings on her side of the room, but bounced back and landed painfully on the pile of junk she had so sweetly discarded on his bed.

Complaining as he stood, Cedric was about to turn and leave so that he could have a word with the headmaster, but a book dropped to the floor from amid the heap and caught his attention. Rage subsided quickly into amusement as he stooped to gather the leather-bound book. Turning it over in his hand, Cedric felt as though Merlin were smiling down upon him.

Grinning, Diggory placed the book on the edge of his desk and set about cleaning up his side of the room.

* * *

"I'm just glad that you made it at all," Chau assured Hermione as they approached her room. "And I would be happy to stay over for a bit and fill you in completely on everything that you missed while you were gone."

"I can promise you that I will not be late for another study period again," Hermione sighed. She was partly relieved that she had not missed her friends altogether, but slightly apprehensive as well because she did not know what awaited her inside her dorm. "Maybe we can go over that stuff tomorrow? Possibly while we have lunch in town? How does that sound?"

"Fantastic!" Chau beamed, his dark eyes sparkling as his smile spread wide to display his teeth. "See you tomorrow, then!" He waved animatedly before bounding off down the hallway to his own quarters.

Hermione sighed once more and turned, her hand resting on the handle of the door. She chewed at the inside of her bottom lip, contemplating just retreating to Harry and Ron's room and sleeping on the floor there instead of facing Cedric's wrath. Then again, she had been just as enraged earlier today as he probably was now, so he deserved what he was suffering, and she would not cower from seeing him get his just desserts.

Squaring her shoulders, Hermione opened the door abrasively and marched in with her chin jutting out. She continued to her bed, head erect, and eyes straight ahead. Sitting her bag neatly on top of her trunk, she grabbed her nightclothes and glanced quickly at Cedric's side of the room.

It was much cleaner than she had ever seen it. Everything was put away in its proper place and not a single item was littering the carpet. The trash was empty and his bed made, even though he was resting atop the covers with his nose in a book.

The anxiety that she had felt earlier ebbed away and was slowly replacing itself with relief, until she spotted something on his desk.

Her heart skipped a beat and then slammed against her breastbone as though trying to run right out of her body in embarrassment. Her palms were dampening and her ears were ringing. Her most secretive of items, a cherished and highly guarded volume lay carelessly, almost mockingly upon his workspace. How had her diary gotten there?

She was not thinking clearly; her only concern at the current moment was that the leather-bound tome return to her grasp, to her side of the room. She marched forward, set on having back what was rightfully hers; however, she forgot about her own fortifications. Hermione struck an unseen barrier and stumbled backwards, her toes and nose throbbing. She dropped her pajamas and rubbed the tip of her nose, panic now racking her body as Cedric closed his book and looked at her from the corner of his eye.

She watched nervously, her stomach roiling, as he stretched and stood. Amusement gleamed in his eyes as he sat aside his own book to pick up her journal. He fingered the little bow that tied the front flap shut, his motions and attitude as carefree as could be.

Hermione stepped forward, but paused as she remembered her boundary.

"Cedric," she spoke softly, cautiously so as not to upset him. "Please return that to me." However, he went about his business as though she had said nothing. "Cedric!" she demanded, her tone louder and bordering on anger with a hitch of nervousness. "Cedric, stop!"

He glanced up at her now and chuckled soundlessly as he stood. Stepping forward, it seemed that he might hand the book over, but instead, he just smirked at her in an all-too-aggravating manner.

"Ugh! Cedric Diggory, this is _not_ funny in the least little bit!"

His eyes widened now, but the humor was still alight on his face. He raised a hand and cupped it to his ear as he furrowed his brow. His gesture served as a mocking reminder that she had also made the wall sound-proof so as to block out Bethany's insistent pestilence.

Hermione let her ire burst forth now like steam from a teakettle. She clenched her fists at her sides and stamped her foot like a child taking a tantrum.

Diggory snickered and shook his head as if to say that he were more mature than her, which only served to egg her on. He let his gaze drift from her cherry-red face to the diary in his hands. She deserved a little invasion of privacy for having invaded his space today, so he yanked on the ribbons and watched the bow untie.

Her heart stopped, and she thought about pleading for only a moment before the two ends of the ribbon jumped to life and began wrapping around Cedric's fingers like vicious snakes. They squeezed and yanked, turning his fingers purple as he tried to free himself. He thought for a moment that it might be like Devil's Snare, so he held still, but the ribbon continued to constrict. His fingers were now tingling and prickling sharply, so he laid the book on the ground and stepped upon it as he resumed his attempts at freeing his digits.

"Do not step on my diary!" Hermione shrieked as she banged her fist against the barrier.

The ribbon ripped from the flap of the journal and went limp. Victory was his, and he knew just how he wanted to bask in the enjoyment of it.

Diggory picked up the volume that held Hermione's deepest secrets and tried to open the book, but it snapped at him and growled, much like _The Monster Book of Monsters_. He stroked the spine; however, the book just snapped at him again.

He had to admit that he was impressed with all her little charms to keep the pages shrouded in privacy, but she was no match for him. He was the best in his class at countering jinxes and curses, so a few little charms by someone younger than he would surely be no match. Or so he thought as he pulled out his wand and aimed it at the leather cover.

Hermione hissed and smacked her palms against the divide in a warning for him to stop.

His eyes darted in her direction, but he paid her no mind even as she drew her own wand and aimed it at him in the fighting stance. A shower of sparks cascaded to the floor on her side of the barrier as he revealed the charms protecting her precious pages. She kicked the invisible wall and shook her head furiously as he began working his own clever removal magic.

Just as the book's last measure of protection was lifted, and he opened the cover, Hermione threw her arm out in a flourish. A loud pop like that of someone bursting a large balloon filled the room and her growl followed from behind her bared teeth. Her demeanor was almost feral as she stormed forward to snatch back her treasured possession, but he held it high above her head. She danced on tip-toes, reaching futilely for the book. He laughed and stretched higher still onto the balls of his feet as he opened the front cover again.

"June seventh nineteen ninety-eight," he began reading as she clawed at his shirt. "Dear Diary--"

"Cedric, stop this instant! That is private!"

"I will be leaving Hogwarts shortly. I wish this week would drag on forever. It is not that I enjoy the testing that much—although it is a pleasant challenge—I just do not know what I am to do about my future after graduation."

"Cedric!" Hermione barked in a high pitch as she grabbed a fist full of his hair and pulled. He winced and shifted, but still kept the diary out of her arm's length as he read on.

"I have not told anyone except for Ginny about my plans to attend the Auror Academy. I can only hope that Harry and Ron will be supportive of my endeavors, as well as my family and other friends. Ginny insures me that everything will turn out fine, but worry of their opinions is not the only thing that has me anxious."

Tears streaked down Hermione's face. She felt as though her clothes had been stripped from her, and she had been shoved in front of a spotlight. Her secrets, her deepest thoughts, her darkest desires, and her every concern was written on those pages, and he was reading them as though he were briskly scanning the morning _Prophet_.

"Stop!" she whimpered, but he read on, engrossed by seeing her painted as human with these emotions she expressed on the pages.

"I have a terrible gut feeling that I will not get accepted to the academy. My grades are something that I strive the hardest for, so I never could have fathomed that they would not be enough to help me get what I need most," he continued, his voice lowering as he went.

This was not the subject matter he had been expecting. He had wanted to hear embarrassing stories and see the names of her crushes with little hearts drawn around them, things that were normally supposed to be written in a girl's diary.

He closed the book and looked up at her. Her face was streaked with tears, and she hiccuped as she ripped the diary from his hand when he held it over to her. He knew now that he had taken things entirely too far. He should have handed the book over without ever opening it and simply scolded her then about invading his privacy and touching his things. His gut twisted as she spun on her heel and all but ran from the room.

* * *

His stomach let out an echoing growl as he slumped down the darkened corridor. The candles were burning low in their holders, but his hunger was of a bigger concern to him.

He had barely eaten in days. Working on the house had consumed him.

"Starving yourself, I see," called the voice of a painting down the hall. He hated to pass it, but he needed to if he were to enter the kitchen and scrounge up some food. "You look like one of those common Muggle beggars. The kind who litter the streets and sidewalks of London. Your grandfather and I did not raise you this way."

He glanced upon his grandmother's portrait and sighed. He was about to count himself mad because he had pondering arguing with her for a moment.

"Clean yourself up and get something to eat," she ordered. "Act as though you came from good, strong magical blood. No kin of mine should appear as you do."

He nodded and maintained his staggering gait as he entered the kitchen, the tisking of his grandmother's painting reverberating in the emptiness.

He opened the pantry and found nothing but empty canning supplies and rotting potion ingredients. He would have had food had he chose to keep what the Muggles had had, but instead, he had threw everything out. He wanted nothing of their taintedness to remain, even if it were sustenance.

He scooted his feet slowly and opened the refrigerator, but the only things that were in there was rotting fruit he had picked a week ago off the trees outside. Next to the fruit lay a putrid plate of meat from a meal he had scavenged a week ago, too. It had not been all that appetizing when he had eaten it freshly cooked, so he refused to even sniff it now. Of course, rat meat was not exactly a delicacy on any menu he had ever been introduced to.

He shut the door, but the chill remained around him as he meandered to the sink and gazed out into the darkness. There, from the black of the night, eyes flashed like a beacon to alert him of a possible meal. Small, round orbs that reflected the light from the kitchen chandelier.

He opened the window as silently as he could and trained his wand on the small animal. Within a second, a cat's yowling filled the thick night air. Its struggling body levitated into the window as it hissed and spat.

He could see the ribs and pelvic bone, so the cat was surely just as starved as he, but it would have to do for now. He grabbed a meat tenderizing mallet from the drawer next to the refrigerator and stepped slowly forward. He had learned his lesson about using the Killing Curse to take the life of whatever he was eating. It made the meat spoil faster and gave it a funny, almost burnt taste.

He levitated the cat to the kitchen island, next to the cutting board. His hand swung back and expertly clubbed the creature over the head, spattering blood over the island countertop and himself. All fussing ceased, so he removed his hold on the feline and aimed his wand at the fireplace instead.

"_Incendio!_"

Flames of brilliant, hot orange leaped from the charred bricks of the firebox and dispelled heat over the hearth.

With the fire crackling in the background, he set to work cleaning the fur from the lifeless body. There was not much meat upon the feline, but it would suffice until he was able to withdraw money from Gringott's and stock his home with needed supplies.


	12. Gringotts

**A/N: **How about that? Four days between updates. Woot, woot! Lol. Enough tooting my own horn; I think I've made it abundantly clear that I'm back for good now. So, onto other matter, like the usual thanks to all those who reviewed last chapter. Thank you to: _Akira M, Karleen, Tate Dean, Dolphin4442, Elliesmeow _(especially large to you for all your correspondence), _Rin1507, ChamberlinofMusic, CT1994, _and _justareader7883_ as well as everyone else who reads this.

Now, one last thing before I let you move on to the chapter. I've had quite a bit of positive feedback about Chau Chang and because of this, I'm going to place an opening over the span of the next three chapter (ending with chapter fifteen) for everyone to ask anything they wish about Chau Chang. Not only will you get a reply from myself, but you'll also get the thoughts of Chau's true life inspiration, CT1994. So let's see those questions start pouring in! Oh, and in case you're wondering, the responses will be posted in my author's profile.

I think that's all... now it's time for the chapter!

* * *

**Chapter 12 – Gringotts**

Stomach still growling, he tossed in the darkness of his king-sized, four-poster bed. His mouth watered as he remembered the way that the meat of the feline had popped and sizzled while the flames licked away at it, turning bloody red to tender, juicy brown.

He kicked back the covers and fisted his hands into his hair. The dilemma of how he was going to withdraw money from Gringotts was causing him to lose precious sleep. Minutes had passed by into hours, and he was still no closer to figuring out how to slip in and out without notice.

He had pondered taking on the appearance of a random passerby for the day so that he could go in a full-proof disguise, but that would involve making Polyjuice Potion, which took time. Time he did not have.

Then he thought about paying—or promising payment to—a beggar inside of Knockturn Alley. But he had to be careful. Ever since the second war with Voldemort had ended, Knockturn Alley was no longer a place for dark wizards alone. Ministry spies disguised themselves and hid amongst the travelers, waiting to capture and arrest war escapees and law-breakers. Knockturn Alley had never really been a place of great trust, but now it was even more dodgy.

He tossed to his left, snatching up the corner of a large pillow in his grasp. Were there any of his fellow Death Eaters still out there? Those who had been tried and escaped judgement from the Ministry by the skin of their teeth. Was there anyone he could turn to for a small favor? And more importantly, could he trust them, or would he have to end their lives after the deed was done for fear of them turning him over to the authorities?

He sat up and rubbed his face harshly against the palms of his hands. It would seem that his only option was to somehow sneak into Gringotts, but that was easier said than done. The goblins had powerful charms, jinxes, and hexes against such attempts. Was he meant to risk everything and try anyways, or was there another solution to his problem?

Then it dawned on him.

While he had been in the service of the Dark Lord, Harry Potter and his ever-troublesome friends, the Mudblood and the blood-traitor, had found their way into the Lestrange vault to steal a Horcrux. He remembered the day as though he were living in that moment right now. Voldemort's rage had been tremendous, more terrifying than ever he or his uncle had seen it. But the rage was not his concern now. Potter had gotten into that vault somehow, which meant that he could, too. He just needed to be as crafty and well-prepared as they had been. And he would do just that.

* * *

"Where the hell were you this morning?"

Cedric glanced up at his friend from over top of his sandwich and chips. He grabbed one of the triangles of bread and looked it over before dropping it back onto his plate. With a shrug of response, Diggory pushed his plate away and looked around the pub.

"Yeah, mate, it's not like ya tah be out 'o bed early on a weekend," teased another of his friends in his heavy accent as he reached for some chips off of Cedric's discarded plate.

"You've blown us off twice now," reminded his blond-haired companion. "Do you not like playing Quidditch with us anymore or something?"

Cedric acted as though he had not heard the question as he continued to gaze around the room, watching people laugh and watching others flirt with their waitresses.

"Something more to drink, love?" asked one of the nearby girls as she bustled up to their table.

"No thanks," Cedric mumbled with a shake of his head as the flirtatious redhead beamed down at him.

His friends gave him a strange, passing glance each before ordering a round for themselves.

"Cedric!" came a cry as the waitress retreated.

A short, dark-haired boy with pale skin came rushing over, weaving his way through the patrons with more ease and grace than any of the staff. This was owed, in part, to his thin, almost female-like build.

"Hey, Chau," Diggory greeted, barely managing to look up at Cho Chang's cousin.

"You know how I hate to get straight down to business and seem like I don't care how you are doing, but... have you seen Hermione? I was supposed to meet her for lunch today, but I have yet to see her anywhere."

"No idea where she is," Cedric muttered, keeping his eyes on the table and his responses short. "She was still gone when I woke up this morning."

"Still?" Chau repeated.

"I think she went to Harry's room," Cedric shrugged, trying to act as though he were not interested and skirt the subject as much as possible. "You should go ask him or some of their other friends; they might know where she is."

"I already did, though," the younger boy puffed out. "I saw them outside of the academy. They have not seen her since yesterday... I just figured that since you were roommates with her and all that you might--"

"I have no idea where she is, Chau," Cedric interjected, coming off in an almost snappish manner.

Chau and Cedric's other friends stared at him for a moment before the youngest boy gave a sigh and looked around the pub.

"All... all right, then. If you see her, can you tell her that I am looking for her?"

"Sure," Diggory murmured as he picked up his napkin and began ripping it into tiny pieces.

Chau gave his cousin's ex one last uncertain look before turning and leaving the pub.

"Ya feelin' okay?" asked the tallest of Diggory's pals.

"Fine," Cedric answered shortly.

"I know what's going on here," reported the blond. All eyes turned to him as he snickered and gave Diggory a sly stare. "You slept with her, didn't you?"

"What?" Cedric scoffed, partly outraged and partly disbelieving.

"Your roommate," the blond hinted. "The brunette. You got into _her_ knickers last night because Bethany isn't having it and now you feel guilty about it. I know you, Ced... sly dog!"

"Absolutely not!" Cedric snapped.

"Oh, c'mon!"

"No!"

"You're taking the piss here, aren't you?" the blond chuckled. "You just don't want to admit what you did... I don't blame you, so calm down. She's not bad on the eyes... and that skin." Here he winked and the others snickered. "Seriously... So, how was she?"

"I did _not_ sleep with her," Cedric growled from between his teeth as he stood and glared down at his friend. "And I would appreciate it if you would stop saying that before Bethany finds out, and I have more trouble on my hands." Cedric shook his head and threw some change on the table for his meal. He turned and stalked out, practically stomping all the way back to the academy campus.

Once inside his room, he leaned against the door and groaned. He silently damned his guilty conscience and cursed himself for having been such an ass. He had been about to give himself a severe self-talking to when the door handle moved and there was a soft push against the door. He jumped away and swung it open, half expecting to see Hermione. He tried to hide his fallen expression, though, when he was greeted with the sight of his pristine, smiling girlfriend.

"Afternoon, darling," she addressed, stepping into the room and smoothing a wrinkle out of the front of his T-shirt. "I just had to see you. I have the most wonderful news!" When Cedric failed to prompt her, she continued as though they had not missed a beat in conversation. She wrapped her thin, bony fingers around the back of his neck and began whispering excitedly. "My cousin says she loves you! She thinks I should bring you home for Christmas to meet my entire family! But I wanted to talk it over with you first because I didn't want you to feel overwhelmed or anything."

Cedric just stared down at her, his arms limp at his sides, and his brain only half attentive to what was coming out of her mouth.

She stretched up and planted a kiss on his cheek before sliding her hands to his face.

"So? What do you think?"

He mentally shook himself and decided that his guilt would be the end of him if he did not stop letting it get the best of him. At least for right now.

"You don't think that it would be too soon, do you? I mean, we have only been dating for a couple of months," Cedric replied.

"It will be half a year next month!" Bethany huffed, removing her hands from his face and folding her arms over her chest. "By Christmas, it will be eight months, one week, and three days!"

Here he paused, baffled by the female ability to keep track of such things. He would never understand just how a girl stored all those dates and numbers in her brain.

"I just think that meeting your entire family is a big deal," he tried to soothe, his hand reaching out to rub her forearm. She pulled back, however, and pursed her lips.

"You were all right with meeting my cousin last night," she protested. "It is not as though the rest of my family is that big of a deal. They are just my family, and they will one day be your family, too."

"Let's stop planning the future here and just take this one day at a time, shall we?"

"Are you trying to say that you don't want to marry me? That you don't like my family and don't want to be apart of it? Are you afraid that once you meet my family that you will have to introduce me to yours? Do you not want me to meet yours?" Bethany fired off.

Her barrage of questions left him fumbling as she began to tap her foot.

"When you can be more articulate and more direct about just what you want from this relationship, then I guess we can talk. Until then, I'm leaving," she hissed just before whipping around and stalking out of the room. The door slammed behind her, making Cedric feel like an ass once again.

He liked her quite a lot; he truly did. And he might even go so far as to call what they had love. He just thought that maybe she was pushing things and trying to rush the situation. The last time he had met his girlfriend's entire family had been with Cho Chang, and they had been dating nearly as long as he and Bethany and look where their relationship was now.

Cedric walked over to his desk and dropped down on the chair. He glanced out the window and watched a group of girls sitting in the school courtyard, basking in the last few warm rays of the summer sun. He sighed then and wondered how the sun could possibly shine on such a miserable day. As he sat back to ponder this, he gazed lazily about the room. And then, out of the blue, a solution jumped out at him.

From on his bookshelf, the answer to all his current girl troubles sang out its praise with a cover of tie-dyed pale, cornflower blue and prim, powder pink. The writing was striking and stark in brilliant, bold rose red. How could he have not thought of this sooner?

* * *

He had walked this path everyday for the last week and a half. Disguised, of course, but he had studied it through the same eyes, thought with the same mind. And now he stood across the street, still unsure if his plans would work.

He had foregone all concealment charms or disillusionment magic. Things like that would be no use against the goblins that stood guard at the doors of Gringotts. Their magic was a strange and powerful thing, even if he hated to admit it. His hatred of other races being able to rival him in incantations and magical duels was not enough to make him arrogant and stupid. He knew, despite his immense distaste for other magical creatures and belief that they were below him, that he should not pick a fight with a goblin.

Instead, he now stood with his hair trimmed extremely short and tamed back by a dull gray flap cap. It was not his choice of style and neither was the tan tweed jacket he was wearing over a deep blue turtleneck, for that matter. However, he appeared very Muggle-like in his attire. Robes, especially those he had found in his old trunks and that of his uncle's, would merely give away his blood lineage and the fact that he belonged to money. Of course, the goblins inside would figure that out upon looking at the key he had to present so he could access his vault, or rather his uncle's. Nonetheless, he did not need anyone else recognizing him.

He rubbed at the stubble on his face and shifted uncomfortably as he reached inside his jacket pocket to draw out some spectacles. They were just another part of his costume, another item he had stolen from an unsuspecting Muggle outside of the Leaky Cauldron on Charing Cross Road. Dawning the glasses, he squinted against the blur they caused in his vision and stepped out into the main flow of foot-traffic on Diagon Alley.

He let the busy witches and wizards push him along, most taking no more notice to him than they would a house-elf or stray cat. He followed a woman in a flowing red gauze skirt up the front steps of the wizarding bank. His eyes caught sight of her long, blond braid, and he felt a rush of nostalgia that was followed by panic. It was one of the Aurors who had caught up with him at Hermione Granger's residence. Would she recognize him?

He cast his eyes to the white marble landing as the goblins acknowledged her and waved their hands as though stuck in a slow motion greeting. She nodded as the doors opened, allowing her to disappear inside. He hesitated, pretending to fidget in his trouser pocket for something, hoping she would be attended to inside without delay. If she was already gone from the main hall, it would be a tremendous relief for him.

He could feel the eyes of the goblins upon him, calculating his every move with growing impatience. If he waited much longer, they would raise an alarm and everything would be ruined. He would find himself in an Azkaban cell faster than he draw his wand.

Stepping forward, he withdrew his key and forced a crooked half smile while holding it up for them to see. The goblins merely retained their annoyed grimaces while mimicking their earlier movements. His heart paused for a beat as their magic probed him, searching for enchantments and charms that might mean he had a thief's intentions. When they turned from him and the doors rumbled open, he gave an inward sigh of relief. Their magic left him, recoiling like vines in the winter, and he ventured forward to a silver set of doors. Upon them was a warning that he had never taken to heart and still did not. He did not intend to steal, so the thief's poem was of no consequence to him. He simply wanted to access his vault and remove all the gold he could carry.

When the scarlet and gold-dressed goblin at this door allowed him access to the vast marble hall, he began feeling as though things might actually go smoothly. Until he saw the blond Auror again. She was making her way toward him, so he turned his back, pretending to search for an open counter where he could be waited on.

"Pontner!" exclaimed a jovial male baritone.

Eyes peering cautiously from the corners, he watched as the female Auror turned and looked around the hall before being approached by a man at least ten years her senior. He was slightly balding and of average build. She smiled broadly, her eyes lighting with glee as her lips formed a greeting.

"Headmaster Boulstridge! So good to see you. What brings you out today?"

"Some personal affairs. Nothing to do with the academy, of course," he chuckled, clapping a hand to her shoulder as he looked her over. "How is your father? And the job?"

"He's marvelous. He went to visit Aunt Kitty in the south of France last week," Pontner answered, looking up at Boulstridge as though he were a loving uncle. "And I still love the job, of course."

"I have to tell you," Archibald beamed nostalgically, "I never thought that I would see another student quite like you. Someone who decided at the last moment that being an Auror was for them, someone with such determination that it would turn into a pleasant surprise... Well, one young girl proved me wrong this year."

"Oh, and who is that?"

"Miss Hermione Granger," Boulstridge boasted. "She entered the program at the last minute, just as you had, but she's top of her class already in a few short months, also just as you were. I believe the Ministry is going to have an excellent force when she completes training."

"Did you say Hermione Granger?" Pontner asked, her tone turning from bright and cheerful to apprehensive and cagey.

"Why yes, yes I did." Here, the ears of a nearby man in a tan tweed jacket and gray flap cap perked. He stood stalk still, just as though he was a statue, while he tuned in to their conversation. "Is something wrong, Pontner? Do you know Miss Granger?"

"Yes, sir, I do," the blond replied in hushed, scandalous tones. "We were called to her residence not long ago—Dawlish, Williamson, and I, that is—to investigate a possible magical disturbance."

"What is so terrible about that? There's daily magical disturbances all over England and--"

"This was originally a Muggle residence. Miss Granger was very clever in the protection department, and through her ingenuity, it was discovered that this person meant ill harm to her."

"Ill harm to Miss Granger? Whatever for? She seemed like a nice, non-troubling young lady when I met her at the beginning of the training year," Archibald confessed.

"We are not entirely certain who the man was. We used memories from Dawlish, Williamson, Arthur Weasley—a worker in the Misuse of Muggle Artifacts office and father to one of her friends—and myself. We are still trying to figure out his identity by using a Quick Quill sketch of him." Pontner paused and looked Archibald in the face, her eyes grave. "No one seems to recognize the sketch. No one at all knows just who he is... It has been suggested that the case be pushed aside as nothing more than a random break-in."

"I say," Boulstridge sighed soberly, "I believe it very well could be. I cannot imagine anyone targeting Miss Granger for any known reason. She's an amazing student, a terrific help, and very trustworthy... Why, at this moment, she is staying at the Auror Academy under unprecedented terms because I have such faith in her."

"Unprecedented terms?" repeated Pontner, sounding bewildered. "What kind of terms? You said she entered late, so what kind of terms did you place on her?"

"She is staying in the male dormitory!" the headmaster chortled. "She shares a dorm with Amos Diggory's son, Cedric."

Eavesdropping ears turned out here. He had heard all he needed to hear. A smile twisted his features, but this was not a pleasant smile as he stepped up to an open counter. This was the smile of a man who had just been given the single most important piece of information he could get so far.

Before today, Hermione Granger's stalker had not the slightest clue where to begin to look for the Auror Academy. But now he had a hint that would surely bring him closer to the revenge he so desperately sought.

"Key, please," requested the Gringotts teller. When the man before him did not take immediate notice of his command, the goblin became irritated. "Key, please!" he snapped, making a few people around the area stop and glance.

The gray-blue eyed man shook himself from his momentary celebration and laid the key upon the counter before the goblin. He turned it over in his long, thin fingers. After weighing it, he surveyed the man before him. Gray-blue eyes tried to remain emotionless and locked on the goblin's suspicious face.

"Mr... Avery?" the goblin muttered, his tone no more a question than a stated disbelief.

It was a well-known fact that the Avery family had been followers of the Dark Lord for decades. Their devious practices and beliefs were enough to shun them now, however. But what was even more scandalous was that it was also thought that the family had died out with the death of its suspected last heir, Cicero Avery. Nonetheless, these rumors had never been confirmed, so the goblins had been unable to loot the vault for themselves.

The man before him willed himself to remain calm. He could not afford to lose composure now. He nodded and waited for the goblin to speak again.

"How did you come by this key?" asked the pointy-tooted creature.

"Inheritance," answered Cicero's nephew.

The goblin seemed to study him before saying, "This way, please." He hopped down from his high stool and waddled to one of the dozens of doors, which lead to the underground vaults.

The gray-blue eyed man knew that he was not out of the Basilisk's mouth yet, though. If the goblin currently whistling for a cart to his vault raised an alarm, there was a slim chance that he could make it out. However, he was still the rightful heir to all that his uncle had left behind, so he was doing nothing wrong. There was no reason to alert anyone of any questionable behavior.

Easing into the cart next to the sour-faced attendant, Avery's nephew held his breath. The cart whizzed off, spiraling, twisting, and racing deeper into the underground. It would not be long now until the moment of truth. Either he would enter his uncle's vault and take what was truly his, or the goblins would massacre him with some powerful form of magic and turn him over to the Aurors to be taken to Azkaban. The cart jerked to a halt and the goblin clambered out, lantern swinging away and basking the cavern walls in strange light and size-changing shadows.

"Vault six-hundred and twenty-four," grouched the short teller. "Key."

Avery's nephew handed over the key yet again and watched as the goblin unlocked it. The door swung open, revealing a sizable pile of Galleons, fifty thousand at least. He stepped forward into the vault and picked up one of the golden coins. He knew that his uncle had been the last to stand in this very vault, the last to touch this money, and the last to breathe the musty air. Cicero's heir picked up one of the Galleons and squeezed it tight in his hand. His uncle had taught him the value of saving money, so he would do just that, at least until he murdered Hermione Granger. Then he would use part of his savings to ensure himself safe passage to some secluded place where Aurors would never find him.

The goblin behind him cleared his throat before asking, "Will you be requiring a withdraw sack?"

"Yes... I wish to withdraw it all," the gray-blue eyed man informed as he kept his eyes trained on the dazzle of the cobweb-covered gold, which glittered even under dust.

The goblin glared for a moment before retrieving one of the enchanted sacks from his cart. He handed it to Avery's nephew and watched as the man began tossing handfuls of coins into the seemingly bottomless, weightless velvet bag.

Moments later, the goblins impatience got the best of him, and he finished the wizard's job, levitating all the gold quickly into the waiting sack as it sat on the dusty vault floor.

"You will have to file a closing account form at the main desk in the lobby upstairs," the teller explained as he waddled back to the cart, the man following behind as he carried his bag of gold like a swaddled baby. They sidled back into the cart and began their journey back to the surface just as wordlessly as they had came down.

Once in the main hall again, Cicero's protege left the goblin's side and weaved through the waiting witches and wizards. He stopped at the towering front desk and peered upward. It took only a second for another equally annoyed goblin to take notice of him.

"Can I help you?" quizzed the aged, graying attendant.

"I need to file a close of account form."

"Step to the side," the goblin gestured to his right, where upon a desk, a form appeared with a scarlet and gold feather quill. "You must fill out _all_ areas of the form, please."

The gray-blue eyed man nodded and sat his bag of Galleons on the desk close to his paper. He placed the quill to the paper and began filling out such things as his uncle's name, date of birth, date of death, vault number, and other identifying pieces of information. He finished and laid the quill down, watching it as it melted back into the desk. He was about to pick up the paper when it, too, was absorbed into the thick, high-gloss maple.

Looking around, he noticed that his form was now in the head goblin's hands. The teller's eyes darted back and forth across and down the page. Then they stopped and narrowed behind the half-circle spectacles perched on the end of his pointy, long, crooked nose.

"You have failed to fill out the form completely as directed," he barked, sharp teeth imposing a more dangerous aura upon the scolding. "Sign your name."

The form popped up in front of the man's face, and he took it in his hand. Approaching the desk once more, he picked up the newly appeared quill and began to sign his name, but paused as he came to his surname.

His father's family and the Burke name had never meant much to him. His mother's family and her surname had been his every source of pride and meaning. So without further hesitation, he finished his signature as he saw fit before allowing the desk to claim the quill and form once more.

"Roden Avery," read the goblin, his tone even more unsavory than before, "your account has been closed. Please relinquish the key to vault six-hundred and twenty-four now." Roden dug deep into his pocket and pulled out the key. He stretched his arm above his head and long, knobby fingers extended to snatch it from him. "You are free to go," the teller informed, giving Roden a feeling of immense relief as he gathered his bag of gold once more and headed quickly for the door, no longer caring if he cast suspicion.


	13. Apologies

A/N: As promised (for once) an update, and it's on time. But first, the many thanks to: _Akira M, Dolphin4442, Winter's Empire, pottersgirl91, Elliesmeow _(extra big here, once again, for your correspondence)_, Tate Dean, justareader7883, Karleen, Rin1507, ForeverBlue90 _(extra big thanks here as well for your bravery in telling my just what you think and for all your input with me),_CT1994 _(it's always an extra big thanks to you, my inspiration), _Secret Hopeless Romantic, ChamberlinofMusic _(you, like the others, deserve an extra thanks for your correspondence), and_belladonnanior._

Now, my lovies, the chapter... enjoy!

* * *

**Chapter 13 – Apologies**

"Hermione! You have to go back to your own room!" Ron grouched as he watched her tidy the room for the third time that week.

"Ron's right," Harry agreed as he looked up from his letter to Ginny. "You can't keep avoiding Cedric like this."

"It's not that," Ron protest as Hermione continued to clean like she had not heard a word either of the boys had said. "It's the fact that you are driving me utterly mad with all your cleaning and complaining for us to study... I feel like I'm back at Hogwarts! Or worse... back at home with Mum."

Hermione stood then, smiling fondly as she recalled the days they had sat idly inside of Gryffindor Common Room and the summers they had spent at the Burrow.

"I'm going to see Headmaster Boulstridge about changing rooms later today," she informed. "I will be out of your hair shortly."

"That's just it! I've done ripped out all my hair, so I have no idea why you are still here. There's no hair to be in!" the youngest Weasley boy barked.

"Who are you going to stay with if you don't stay with Cedric?" Harry inquired, scribbling the closing to his letter as he spoke. He had hoped that Hermione would be over this stage in her life. She used to do the same thing at Hogwarts when she and Ron would fight, and he had thought that she might have matured enough to stop avoiding the people in her life that she quarreled with. However, he would not call her on it because he knew better. She would only see his opinion of it being wrong for her to avoid the problem as salt in her wound.

"Chau Chang," she responded. "There is no way the headmaster will refuse this request since Chau is highly dependable. He is responsible and does well in his studies, just like the headmaster thinks Diggory is." Hermione plopped down on Harry's bed and began gathering her books into her bag. "And what is even better, is the fact that he is more reliable because he's not into girls." Ron blanched slightly and stared at Hermione. "What?" she hissed a moment later when she finally noticed his look. "There is absolutely nothing wrong with that. Honestly, Ronald, you are so close-minded!" He gaped at her as she stood and shouldered her satchel.

"I think that's a great idea," Harry lied as he folded his letter and place his quill aside. He knew that Hermione got along with Chau, which was great as far as roommates went, but she was still running away from the problem.

He stood with a stretch and was making his way to the door to go to the owl barn when Hermione snatched the letter away.

"I will take that for you," she insisted as she stepped past him and opened the door. "It is the least I can do for letting me stay here." She smiled at both of them and walked swiftly out the door.

"I don't know how much longer I can handle her staying with us," Ron muttered, scrubbing his face with his palms.

"Me either," Harry sighed as he looked at his hand, inspecting a paper cut she had just given him.

* * *

Cedric grinned broadly as he strode down the corridor, Bethany's fingers entwined in his own. He had spent all week patching things over with her. And now their relationship was as fresh and sickeningly loving—or so his friends dubbed it—as the first days they had started seeing each other. It had only taken him a few small gestures and some extra smooth, semi-sweet talking before she was like a happily bubbling Love Potion. And, in truth, he owed it all to one simple little book, which now lay upon Hermione's bed along with a few other things.

In fact, his room—including her half—was a rather large disaster at the moment. Since Hermione had not been there for a week, he had went back to his old ways. Clothes littered the floor, books appeared to have exploded from his trunk and bag, and quills and parchment avalanched from his open desk drawers. His bed was unmade and candy wrappers lay forgotten around the waste bin. All in all, it was a typical male room. And Cedric would be enjoying it, had his guilty conscience not gotten the best of him while he lay in bed each night that week.

Some annoying little voice was constantly calling him a cad and a brute for what he had done to her. He owed her an apology, but the thing was, he had been unable to talk to her.

He had waited outside one of her classes two days after the incident, but lost his nerve and walked away. He baffled even himself when he did that because he had faced a fully grown dragon and asked Cho Chang out, so it should not be all that difficult to spit out a simple sorry. However, he knew that it would take more than that to make up for what he had done.

A day after his first failed attempt, he had went to Harry and Ron's dorm to see her, but they had lied terribly about not knowing where she was. Chau Chang had told Cedric specifically that Hermione had been staying with her two best friends. And what was worse was that Cedric had saw Hermione sitting on Ron's bed, pretending to read while she listened intently to him asking for her.

Later that day, he had taken to waiting in the library. She had always been around the old volumes in Hogwarts, so she probably found comfort in the campus library as well. However, she had not shown up at all that night, or the next day, for that matter.

He was running out of options, and if he went to Chau one more time for information or help, it was likely that the half-vampire would sock him right in the gut. He had already told Cedric that he thought him stupid and bull-headed for doing such a thing to her. Yet he had taken pity on Cedric and helped him in each attempt to reconcile with Hermione. First by telling Diggory her schedule and then by letting him know that she had been staying with Harry and Ron. Chau had even told Cedric that Hermione would have a study period in the library, but none of those tid bits of information had helped.

It was starting to seem that his only option was time. He would just have to allow her to come around on her own. And surely she would eventually, or so he hoped.

* * *

"I can't believe that you are still dodging him," Chau sighed as he and Hermione made their way back from the owl barn.

"How am I supposed to face someone who knows things about me that not even my best friends know?" Hermione huffed somewhat angrily.

"He was stupid, yes," Chau agreed. "And he should not have done such a thing, you're right. But he was angry, just as angry as you were. You invaded his privacy by moving the things in his room."

"You cannot tell me that by tossing his things back onto his side of the room—things that he did not even care to pick up off the floor in the first place, mind you—that I was invading his privacy. I did not take his things or read anything of his, I just moved the stuff so that I could safely access my own side of the dorm."

Chau sighed yet again; he knew she was right, but he wanted to see this row brought to an end. He liked both Hermione and Cedric, and he certainly did not enjoy seeing them in such a tuft.

"And you cannot tell me that you haven't done something stupid out of anger before, too," he said in a light, but accusing tone.

She pursed her lips and her expression stiffened. She could think of a couple of times that she had gotten upset with Ron and lashed out at him. In fact, one time in particular stuck out in her mind. She had been so mad at Ron for snogging Lavender in front of her that she had run away from him. When he had found her again, she had attacked him with canaries. However, she was not about to tell Chau that.

"Just as I thought," he muttered, reading the lie behind her eyes. She glared at him from the corner of her eye as they entered the boys' dormitory building. "He has been trying to apologize, just so you know," he added a moment later as they began walking down the corridor to his room.

"Trying and actually making up for what he did are two entirely different things," she grumbled as he opened his dorm door.

"So, what are you going to do? Continue to run from him?" Chau questioned hastily as he turned and looked her in the eye.

"I am _not_ running from him," she grouched in a low, annoyed tone.

"Then what are you doing? When do you plan on going back to your own dorm and sleeping in your own bed?"

"When my bed gets moved out of his room and into another."

"You're acting like a child about this," Chau pointed out. He could see then by the way that she crossed her arms across her chest and shifted her weight to her right foot that no amount of reason was going to get through to her, at least not any time soon. "C'mon, then," he breathed heavily as he pulled his dorm door shut once more and grabbed her by her wrist.

"Where are we going?" she protested, trying to yank her arm from his grasp, but his long, thin fingers wrapped perfectly around her wrist and made it difficult. He used his bracelet-like grip to drag her up to her dorm. She began digging her heels into the floor as she saw where they were going; she only went in there when she was sure Diggory was not present. Her fingers pried at Chau's as he gripped the handle of the door and used it to anchor them to the spot.

"You're going to face him now," he grunted as he gave a hard tug and pulled her up to the door.

"No!" she howled as he opened the door and shouldered her in. She whipped around to grab the door, but Chau had already pulled it shut and was holding the handle from the other side.

"Talk!" he shouted through the wood.

"No!" Hermione screamed, looking back over her shoulder in case Cedric was there. She did not want to further embarrass herself in front of him. Much to her relief, though, he was not there.

"I don't hear any talking!" Chau bellowed.

"He's not even here, so let me out before he does come!" she yelled.

The handle of the door turned against her grip and the door pushed back lightly against her. Chau slipped inside and leaned against the door to shut it as she tried to slip past him.

"We will just have to wait here for him, then," the half-vampire resolved. "In the meantime, let's clean up this mess a bit, shall we?"

Hermione turned fully, giving in to her friend, and surveyed the room. Her jaw set with the sight of things. He had taken over her half of the room. Some of his books and papers had drifted over to her desk and even her bed. She stamped her foot and whipped out her wand quickly. The fire that was alight in her eyes was soon to blaze around the room as red sparks sizzled out of the end of her wand.

"Whoa! Whoa!" Chau shouted, grabbing her shoulder and her wrist as she raised her wand. "I'll take care of clean-up. You just find a seat and study or something."

She eyed him for a moment, rage bubbling inside of her. She resolved to just occupy herself with packing her things while he cleaned. Storing her wand away once more in the pocket she conveniently sewed in all her pants, she opened her trunk and started to gather her books while Chau set to picking up things off the floor.

Halfway through their clean-up, Hermione found a book that made her do a double take. She had been about to throw the pink and blue tie-dyed volume to Cedric's side of the room when the author's name jumped out and snatched her attention.

"Roger Davies?" she read aloud in disbelief. "I don't even recall him opening a book to study in Hogwarts, so how could he have written one?"

"Hmm?" Chau mumbled from across the room as he sat on Diggory's bed, digging through Cedric's candy stash as he folded clothes and dropped them in the older boy's trunk.

"I attended Hogwarts with the author of this book," Hermione explained as she plopped down on her own bed and crossed her legs in an Indian-style position. She opened the tome and let her eyes wander the page as her brow knit itself together.

"Well, what's it say?" Chau prompted as his companion huffed in skepticism.

"Roger Davies is trying to give guys pointers on how to handle situations with girls," Hermione flouted. "I cannot believe that anyone would even buy this... _thing_! It cannot even be called a book." When Chau gave her a bewildered look, she began to explain her outrage. "Roger Davies dated more girls in one year than the entire population of Hogwarts males dated in their full seven years at school."

"A cheat, I take it?"

"Sometimes... others he was what you would call a...," she scrunched her face in contemplation as she searched for the word, "a promiscuous..."

"Player?" Chau offered.

"Something of the sort," she nodded.

"Well, what's it say?" her friend insisted excitedly. "If he was so slick and had so many partners, then he should have a wealth of knowledge."

"Hardly," Hermione grumbled as she flipped the page and began reading aloud. "Signs and Signals from a Girl and What to Do When She Gives Them," here she looked pointedly at Chau as though this were a bad joke.

"Go on," he grinned.

"Body language is highly important, so I have listed a couple dozen movements, looks, and postures that are of great consequence... Number one," she pressed on. "When a girl stares at your mouth or any surrounding area, it is like an unspoken want for you to kiss her."

"True," Chau interrupted, earning him a sharp-eyed glance. "You cannot tell me that when you stare at a guy's lips, you aren't wishing he would kiss you?" He raised his eyebrows to emphasize his point, which in turn caused her to roll her eyes as she continued.

"Number two. When she gets angry and pushes, hits, or curses at you, you need to pull her close and comfort away her ire. A female's choler is very much like an open, bleeding wound. You do not want to be harsh with such an injury. Finesse and soothing work wonders in both situations... And he would know all about causing wounds to women," Hermione spat. "Number three. When girls are not speaking or humming or making any general noise, something is wrong. Be sure to ask what it is that has her so troubled. Your show of concern will endear you to her and ensure that if the problem is with you, the wrath to follow this question is going to be considerably less."

"Sounds to me like this bloke has more of the right ideas than you give him credit for," Chau butt in.

"Oh, please!" Hermione snorted as she turned the page. "Number four. When there is a lack of attention from her end of the relationship, she is trying to tell you that you are ignoring her as well. Give her attention. Give her a gift or plan the day around activities for the two of you and no one else."

"I must admit that I do that myself when someone is ignoring me."

"Number five," Hermione proceeded, ignoring her friend's input. "The female gender thrives on compliments and comments of all sorts, be they good or bad. So when you see her looking down about something, tell her that she is looking particularly lovely or that you like something she has done. The reward for such a remark is often great."

"I know I like to get compliments when I'm feeling down."

"Number six," she sniffed, feeling annoyance dig deeper. "When a girl cries or shows fear in front of you, it is best to step up and take control of the situation. Her show of vulnerability is like a billboard signal that she needs your comfort and assistance."

"I don't mind being cuddled when I feel like that," Chau nodded in agreement as he grabbed the half-eaten bag of candy and came to sit beside Hermione.

"That is such a macho, pig-headed view. I do not need a man to step up and take control of things when I get scared. I would rather push through my fear and take it head on by myself."

"Feminist," Chau chuckled. "What else does he say?"

"I cannot believe that you are enjoying this rubbish!" Hermione half-choked out. She shook her head, but kept on reading nonetheless. "Number seven. Females are very heart-felt creatures—creatures?!" Here Chau swatted Hermione, so she exhaled heavily and picked up where she left off. "They attach deeply to someone that they share a relationship with, so if she takes something of yours—for instance, a shirt or cloak—allow her to keep it. It is a constant reminder of you, and something you should be proud of."

"One time, when I was in school, I had a friend filch a pair of gloves from this guy I liked," Chau informed, a fond twinkle sparking in his eye at the memory. His look softened Hermione's mood and earned him a small, half-smile.

"Number eight," she sighed, the smile evident in her tone. "When her hand brushes yours, grab it and hold tight or play with her fingers. This is a small, but very much appreciated show of affection. As with giving compliments, the reward for such a thoughtful gesture is often great."

"Holding hands is fun and so cute," Chau snickered, making Hermione smile even more.

She was about to continue on, but the door handle clicked. Her head jerked in the direction of sound, and she waited with an uneasy stomach as the door swung open.

Cedric sauntered in, not noticing the pair until he was halfway across the room. He paused then, his face blank as his brain swam desperately for something to say.

"I think I'll leave you two to talk things over," Chau chirped happily as he snatched the book from Hermione. "Oh, and I'm borrowing this, Cedric," he added as he took long, quick strides for the door. When it closed behind him, silence pounded in their ears.

"Sorry for the mess," Cedric muttered, unsure of just where to start. She said nothing to this as she continued to stare at him, just as uncertain of what to voice herself. "I owe you an apology for what I--"

"Save it," she hissed slowly as she stood. "You took things way too far when you did that."

"I understand that now," Cedric rushed, sacrificing all dignity he had left. "I should not have done what I did, and I know that, but please... please let me make it up to you."

"I fail to see how you could."

"Let me start by--"

"No... no. I would rather go to the headmaster and get my room switched. What you did was a major breach of trust, which was not all that great to begin with," she scolded.

"If you go to the headmaster, it will not only be trouble for me, but for you, too."

She remained silent for the moment, realizing that he spoke the truth. The headmaster would want to know what had provoked Cedric, and when Diggory explained, Hermione would possibly be in jeopardy for the charms that she used to separate the room.

"Look," Cedric uttered, running his hands through his hair. He turned and dug into the bottom of his desk drawer, pulling out something wrapped in a brown paper bag. He handed it to her with uncertainty, hesitating as he stepped closer and into her half of the room.

She narrowed her eyes and reached out slowly. When her fingers clamped down on the rectangular parcel, he nodded as though to encourage her to open it. She kept her eyes on him as she grabbed the paper with the other hand and jerked roughly, tearing away a strip of the paper down the center.

Inside was a deep purple, hardbound, leather book. She glanced quickly from him to the package and back again.

"What is it?"

"A new diary," he answered.

"You think this is enough to make up for reading my diary?" she snapped incredulously.

"No, by no means is it," Cedric hurried to console. "That and a dozen times of me saying that I am deeply sorry would not be enough--"

"You're damn right," Hermione growled as she flung the half-wrapped gift down on the bed behind her.

"That's why I have one more thing to give you," he explicated as he turned quickly to his trunk and began digging through the newly folded clothes.

She crossed her arms and pursed her lips, growing impatient as he persisted in his semi-frantic search.

"Well?" she cued restively.

He surfaced a moment later, something small tucked securely in his fist. The breadth of his hand hid the tiny thing well, but it did nothing to conceal the shimmering quality it cast.

"Here," he said, holding out his fist.

Curiosity got the best of her, so she laid her open palm under his waiting hand. He unfolded his fingers and pushed his palm carefully against hers, cool glass resting between their skin. He used his other hand to enclose her fingers around the ampule. He held her clenched hand in between his for a moment, his face full of pleading lament and sorrowful regret.

"I really am very sorry for what I did," he apologized in low, almost whispering tones. "I never meant to hurt you." He released her hand then and took a step back, waiting for her to say something

Her fingers opened, looking like flower petals in a fast motion bloom as she exposed his second gift.

It was a vial filled to the cork with a silky-looking silver substance. She could scarcely ascertain if it was liquid or gas, but either way she knew what it was. It was a memory. But what memory, she was not sure.

"I figured I should give back what I took from you," Diggory murmured. "And if that isn't enough, I am prepared to let you see one of my most embarrassing moments," he confessed, pulling another miniature bottle out of his pocket.

He felt like an utter fool as she stood there gaping at him. Davies' book had said to make a sacrifice and even the plain between them. He could see no other way to make things more even than what he had just offered. It were as though he were offering an eye for an eye.

"Th-thank you," she stammered out, blown away by his selfless act of apology. "But I think that giving me back what you took and giving a new diary will suffice." She smiled at him then.

"So we're good now?" he asked cautiously as a smile lightened his features.

"So long as you keep the room in order," she half-laughed.

"Deal," he grinned as he held out his hand for her to shake.

As Hermione accepted his gesture of peace, they went unaware of the person standing on the other side of the door listening and seething.


	14. A Break

**A/N:** This chapter has been a long time coming... A whole two months and twelve days, in fact. But it's finally here, so I pray--as always--that you enjoy it. However, the usual thank you's are in order: _Dolphin4442, Akira M, Elliesmeow, Tate Dean, cheshirecate1333, Winter's Empire, CT1994, Idle Writer of Crack, Rin1507, ForeverBlue90, pottersgirl91, justareader7883, ChamberlinofMusic, Dramione-Fan 17, WickedSoulx, _and _Mary-La._ Thank you to all of you for reading and reviewing, even to those who are not specifically mentioned above. I appreciate your patience and devotion.

* * *

**Chapter 14 – A Break**

He was all but cackling with hysterical glee. Perched on the arm of a chair in front of his uncle's painting, he smirked and sipped in celebration on a tumbler full of the finest alcohol.

"I promise you, Uncle," he spoke with triumphant mirth to an empty frame, "I will give you justice."

With that vow, he stood and downed the last of his brandy. He had somewhere to be soon, so he dawned his patched, darned trench coat and dragon hide boots. Retrieving his wand from his coat pocket, he made his way out of the room, down the corridor, and out the front door.

As he trudged across the darkening yard, he glanced at the setting sun. The Aurors would be changing shifts now, and he needed to catch up with Amos Diggory.

* * *

"Still pouring over that book?" Cedric asked as he looked up from a letter his mother had sent.

Hermione sighed and gave him a glance from where she sat at her desk.

"I practically killed myself on the last essay I turned in for Professor Ericson, and I only managed to get half marks." The frown lines on her forehead deepened and the depression that belied her face was sincere and profound. "I have no clue what he wants from me. I put every possible bit of information I could into that defense essay. It came out to be four feet of parchment!"

"Ericson," Diggory smiled as he tossed aside his letter and swung his legs off the bed. "I can tell you something that would probably get you full marks."

Hermione looked skeptical for a moment. She and Cedric had been getting along rather well for the past three days since he had apologized. He kept his half of the room tidy, or at least tidy in his opinion, which was something Hermione had come to tolerate. He had even taken to asking his friends and girlfriend to leave an hour earlier than he used to so that they could both retire to bed at a reasonable hour. In return, Hermione had stopped nagging so much, and she even left his things alone when they occasionally strayed to her half of the room. With the atmosphere becoming more and more relaxed by the day, they had actually begun speaking to each other more.

"What advice do you have for me, then?" Hermione inquired reluctantly. She had never asked for help on a homework assignment before, and it pained her greatly to do so now.

"Stop relying so much on a book, for one," Cedric counseled as he walked over and shut the text in front of her. "Try writing more from experience... Ericson looks at an essay like he does a good story. He doesn't want to read boring material that he teaches daily in class year after year... He wants action and firsthand knowledge."

She appeared to ponder this for a moment, but the furrow in her brow still remained in place. Hermione tapped her quill against the desk and then her chin, her eyes roaming over the many papers, inkwells, quills, and books before her.

"C'mon," Cedric sighed, propping himself on the edge of her desk. "You cannot tell me that you don't have any experience to draw from." She merely glanced up at him and gaped a little. "What about using the battle at Hogwarts to help? Dueling Club from the year Lockhart taught Defense? Something!"

Inspiration dawned in her eyes like a meteor exploding into the atmosphere. Her confused, hopeless scowl melted away. She felt so silly for not having thought of those situations herself.

"Got something?" he beamed, happy to have helped.

She gave no answer as she turned to her parchment and began scribbling in a frenzy fit to set the paper on fire. Her frenetic scrawling got the best of his curiosity, so he rose and moved to stand behind her. He leaned down, one hand resting on the back of her chair and the other spread flat on the desk next to her elbow.

His breath mingled in her hair, moving it and warming its already frizzing strands. She paid no mind to it, though. She was too busy scripting out her version of her fight with Bellatrix Lestrange during the final battle from a year ago. In fact, both Cedric and Hermione were so engrossed in the scene that she was scratching down that neither of them heard the door open.

* * *

A resounding crack reverberated throughout the alley, scaring a mangy, tiger-striped stray. The feline hissed as it hastily scrambled for the shadows, toppling the trash can it had been rooting in. From the inky black depths of a tattered cardboard box, the cat's reflective yellow eyes watched carefully as a man stepped off of a forlorn-looking stoop.

Bones of forgotten feline feasts crunched and cracked under his dragon skin boots, but he did not seem to notice, or at least did not care. He had a determined note in his stride as he made his way down the alley towards a large, rusted green dumpster. He paused beside it and gazed at the mouth of the narrow passageway for a moment. He knew that within mere minutes, the one man who was key in opening his attempt to find Hermione Granger would venture down this very alleyway.

Roden backed up against the rough brick wall of a nearby building and crouched into the shadows of the hoary dumpster. His already battered coat snagged against the sandy, scratchy surface as he sank into the darkness, concealing himself from obvious sight. His ears tingled, honing in on the sound of footsteps along the sidewalk just at the end of the alley. His eyes dilated to adjust to the obscure, almost like the cat, who still waited angrily in its box.

A car whizzed by on the main street; its muffler loud and backfiring every so often. The cat hissed again at the loud bang and shifted in its box, its eyes darting. Long, thin shadows wavered across the alley floor. Aurors were beginning to file out of the public restrooms down the street where the Ministry of Magic Floo Network ended. Soon, Amos Diggory would traverse the darkness, unknowing of what awaited him.

* * *

"What are you doing?" Bethany barked in a shrill, irate pitch.

Hermione's quill scratched to a halt on her parchment, marring the paper and splotching ink as she turned her head and peered past Cedric's shoulder.

His face was perilously close to hers. His breath mingled with her own, and she could see each individual little stubble on his chin.

"Cedric!" Bethany snapped, trying to get his attention. "I'm talking to you!"

Diggory finally stopped reading Hermione's essay and turned his head, too. He appeared torn by devoting his attention to his girlfriend and finishing the riveting tale Hermione was spinning on her parchment.

"What is this?" his girlfriend demanded, throwing a hand out before her in a disgusted gesture.

Cedric looked from Bethany to Hermione. For the first time since he had began reading over her shoulder, he realized just how close he was to her, yet he made no attempt to move. His gaze drifted back to the other girl again before he slowly straightened. He glanced back at his roommate once more before shrugging.

"What's it look like?" he inquired sincerely.

Bethany's eyes narrowed; she had obviously mistaken his honest confusion with rhetorical sarcasm.

"It looks to me like you're getting cozy with your roomy," she hissed, crossing her arms over her chest in a huff.

Cedric chortled in amusement at her jealousy. The sound of his laughter was sharp and only served to increase the uncomfortable tension in the room. He did not dignify her accusation with a response as he shook his head and eyed her with entertained skepticism. She was always incriminating him of wrongful, cheating acts when it came to other females.

"I should go... I need to meet up with Chau in the library anyways," Hermione confessed as she grabbed her bag from the back of her chair and began stuffing parchment, books, and quills inside it without ceremony or neatness.

The stiffness of the atmosphere was making her nervous, especially since that stiffness centered around her.

"You don't have to feel uncomfortable because of her," Cedric interjected, gazing back at the younger girl as he leisurely folded his arms over his chest and widened his stance. "This is your room as well as mine, and you should not feel the need to leave when she enters."

"Cedric!" Bethany howled. She threw her arms out to her sides and stormed over to him. She gave his chest a shove, which rocked his balance, but he did not budge a single step.

"Well, it's true," he stated in careless defense. "Every time you come in the room you try to make her feel as though she's a hindrance or that she should depart so we can be alone." He gesticulated and gave his girlfriend a lazy, somewhat annoyed gaze. "I feel ill at ease when we're sharing a simple kiss and she's in the room, so she must feel something of the same."

"A little alone time would be nice," Bethany interrupted, feeling as though Cedric was saying that he felt embarrassment at kissing her in front of others. "She does not always have to be in the room!"

"That's besides the point," he grumbled. "She has a right to be in the room whenever she plea--"

"But all the time?" the older girl fumed, cutting off his remark. "She never leaves! She's always got her nose shoved in a book while she either nags you or sits here pretending to read, but I know what she's really up to!"

"And what, pray tell, would that be?" Hermione butt in as she rose quickly to her feet. She had been willing to just slip out and let the lovers have their quarrel, but now Bethany seemed to be making personal stabs at her. And she could only be made to take so much.

"I see the furtive little glances you throw his way--"

"Oh, please!" Hermione scoffed, rolling her eyes and slamming her bag down on her now vacated seat. "He shares a room with me... if my eyes should happen to roam to his half of the room at some point, then it's purely by accident, I assure you. I am certainly not sizing him up or having daydreams about him."

"By accident," Bethany repeated with disdainful mocking. "I'm so sure."

Hermione pursed her lips and clenched her fists. It was like dealing with Lavender Brown all over again, and that was one particular memory from Hogwarts she did not care to relive, especially now that she was at a new school.

"Enough, Beth--"

"No, Cedric!" his girlfriend erupted. "How can you stand there and defend her like this and expect me to believe that there is not something going on?"

"Because nothing is!" Hermione and Cedric yelled in unison.

"I heard you two the other night."

"What?" Diggory snarled disbelievingly. His girlfriend had only been present one night within the recent week, and Cedric had not said two words to Hermione that evening while Bethany was there. So what, exactly, could she be referring to?

"When you two were fighting the other night," she reminded, trying to jog his memory, but it apparently was not working. Cedric merely looked back to Hermione, who was still glaring at the other female. "You offered her the chance to see your most embarrassing memory... You won't even let me see that!" Hurt crept into her voice now as she shoved him again, which still lacked effect. "You won't introduce me to your parents, and you have only ever bought me dinner... But yet you bought her a diary... which is a good place for her to keep all her dirty little thoughts about you!"

"Stop!" Hermione bellowed, her knuckles going white on her bag strap as she continued to glower at Bethany. "I do _not_ have any dirty thoughts about Cedric... And he merely offered me what he did because he was trying to make up for something he did wrong. It was not some hidden gesture of love or longing, and it was not made to make you feel inadequate or less worthy."

With that, Hermione snatched up her inkwell, tossed it inside of her bag, and slung the bag over her shoulder. She shoved past her chair, toppling it against her bed in the process. She stormed past Cedric and Bethany, staggering them both as she headed for the door. Her hand slammed down onto the handle, and she gave it a harder-than-necessary turn before looking back over her shoulder.

"And another thing," Hermione growled as she eyed Bethany with great dislike, "you should really stop giving him such a hard time. He is rather devoted to you and puts up with quite a bit of your bullshit." Here, Cedric's eyes went wide. He had not expected to ever hear her curse, especially not in a matter where she was defending his character. "Any lesser man would have blown you off by now," Hermione added. "Not to mention, I should tell you that it makes you look bad anyways. Green is a lovely shade, but not when it coincides with jealousy." That being said, Hermione whipped around and stomped roughly into the corridor, sweeping the door shut noisily behind her.

* * *

Excitement and anticipation made his skin burn and tingle. Roden could barely contain the itch that coursed over his entire being. He thought that this is how a wolf or lion must feel just before the hunt, before the chase... before the kill.

He leaned forward, rocking on the balls of his feet as he hugged himself. He needed to get the adrenaline under control. He was so close to unlocking the door to Hermione Granger that he could feel the figurative key brushing his fingertips.

A chuckle escaped his lips as shadows began to shrink on the alley pavement. A sure sign that people were edging ever closer to his hiding place. And he sincerely hoped that one of them was Amos Diggory.

He straightened, shifting his tense, cramping legs as he waited. He had only seconds before he would pounce out upon them and take them by surprise.

His eyes stayed trained on the deepening silhouettes. He held his breath as the steps of the approaching people echoed in his ears like drums in a monastery. His heartbeat warred to be heard against the tattoo of advancing soles on the ground.

Two men came into view. Their faces were deeply shadowed and tired-looking. They muttered goodbyes to each other as they both reached into the pockets of their robes to retrieve their wands. Neither took notice of Roden, who was still frozen in the darkness of the dumpster. He watched them nod to one another before disappearing with twin, echoing claps.

The cat across the way chose now to run. It bolted from its hiding place, startled by the noise, and raced for the dumpster where the man was crouched. Leaping into the air, the stray hit the top of the dumpster and vanished through a broken window.

"Blimey!" gasped a woman as she backed against the wall across the way and aimed her wand at the green receptacle. The cat had given her quite the scare, and she wanted to see just where it had gone. "Lumos!" Light burst forth from her wand tip, revealing trash, empty boxes, battered brick walls, and the startling figure of a man. She gasped again, gripping the lid to the trash can as her heart leaped into her throat. She knew this man. She had seen him once before at the residence of Harry Potter's friend.

Then, with movements that would put lightning to shame, he was standing upright and aiming his wand at her. A vicious snarl tore from his lips and a curse exploded from his outstretched wand.

This blond woman was not the person he had been expecting, and he needed to deal with her quickly if he was to capture Amos Diggory. He could not have her exposing him before his victim happened along.

She ducked, scrunching her body low to the ground and using a forgotten trash lid as a shield. Running, she just made it behind the same stairs he had descended earlier. From her blockade, she sent a hex meant to paralyze him.

He dove, landing on the opposite side of the alley atop some sopping cardboard boxes. Rolling, he knocked over some trash bins, but just managed to dodge another jinx from her.

The blond rose, trying to get a better aim at her target; however, this was a mistake.

In the split second that she took to calculate her attack, he sent a spell her way. It hit the trash lid she was holding like a medieval shield and sent her sprawling. Her head bounced against the damp, dirty concrete like a child's toy ball. Lights popped in her vision, and she felt a warm, nauseating pain explode in the back of her skull.

As she laid there, trying to discern night from bordering unconsciousness, Roden drew precariously closer. Nonetheless, she had no idea that her attacker was upon her until his blurry, wavering image skirted into view. His sounds were drown out by the rushing sound of blood and the hammering pain in her skull.

He gazed down upon her with pure revolt. His hands shook, and he longed to end her life then and there. She had cost him his encounter with Amos Diggory. Even so, he could not give her the punishment that he felt she had so justly brought upon herself by intruding into matters that did not concern her. If he were to leave her dead in this alleyway that so many of the Aurors used, then they would know that something was afoul.

Laughter at the end of the alley told him that others were drawing close. He needed to do something with her. He certainly could not leave her if he could not murder her. She would, without a doubt, have the entire Auror squad looking for him the second that she came to. She had saw him plainly and would be too much of a liability for him to simply let her lie. And Merlin knew he was no expert at memory alterations, so he had only one choice as a group of men turned into the mouth of the side street and began heading his way.

Crouching down, Roden crushed her wrist in his grip and held out his wand. With a resounding crack that startled both the men and the tabby in the window, he and the blond witch were gone.

* * *

"Cedric," Bethany whimpered, "please see reason!" Her voice was shrill and whiny, the epitome of desperation.

"I won't put up with it anymore, Bethany," he grouched, his voice determined and final. "We need to take a break, and that's that... You've grown out of control with possessiveness and jealousy. I can't take it... I shouldn't have to."

"I am not asking you to put up with it, but please... _please _give me a second chance. It's not as though I've cheated on you or something. This is a minor mistake that can be corrected."

Hermione frowned. She hated to hear any girl, good or bad, sound as Bethany sounded on the other side of her dorm door. And speaking of bad, what was she doing listening in on their conversation? It was wrong, but she felt some obligation to the situation; she felt somehow at fault for what was transpiring inside that room.

"Can you blame me for being so attached?" Bethany cried.

"Yes, indeed I can," Cedric barked. "Your possessiveness speaks volumes for your mistrust. Every time you snap at me about looking in another girl's direction or talking to another female, it not only says that you do not trust them, but me as well."

"I do trust you!"

"No! I don't think that you do," Diggory hissed, "or else you wouldn't get so angry when I speak to my roommate or smile at one of your friends."

"I'm sorry! I'm so sorry!"

"Sorry won't fix things this time, Beth," he sighed heavily. "We need to take a break... You need time to work on your issues with greed over my attention, and I need some space. I can't have you smothering me like this and arguing with me every time my eyes come unglued from you or your name isn't sitting on the tip of my tongue."

Someone moved on the other side of the door and the handle lurched against Hermione's grip. She jumped back, afraid of being caught eavesdropping.

Diggory appeared on the other side of the door, his expression indifferent as he waited for his girlfriend—or rather ex-girlfriend—to leave. Bethany sniffled and a hiccup stuck in her throat as she stood frozen in place.

"You can't be seri--"

"I am serious," Cedric stated steadily, trying to keep his anger under wraps. "Now I think that you need to leave."

He watched as tears welled in her eyes. She waited only a second, which was long enough for one tear to slip down her cheek, and then she took long strides out into the corridor. Her sorrow melted away for a moment as she laid eyes on Hermione. The rage and ire that bubbled inside was evident in Bethany's eyes as they bore into Hermione's. She took a step back from the older girl, who began shaking as more tears slipped down her cheeks.

"This is your fault," she growled before spinning away and rampaging down the hallway.

Hermione gaped after her, unsure if she should feel outrage at the accusation or alarm. When she turned to Cedric, she saw he was leaning against the door, his eyes dull with tiredness and apathy as he watched Bethany stalk away. He turned away without so much as a word and retreated to his desk. Plopping down, he scrubbed his face with his hands and appeared much older than he truly was.

Guilt seated itself deeper in Hermione's stomach, and she almost squirmed with discomfort. She followed him into the room, trying to make as little noise as possible.

"I'm sorry," she muttered as she righted her desk chair and hung her satchel on the back of it.

"You have nothing to be sorry for," Diggory replied tonelessly as he stood up and pulled his shirt over his head. "You did nothing wrong." He discarded his T-shirt on the chair and yanked back his bedcovers before flopping down on the mattress. He eyed the ceiling for a moment before exposing his back to his roommate and falling into awkward silence.

* * *

"I say! Did you see that, Amos?" inquired a portly man from the Ministry's Accidental Magic Reversal Squad.

"What are you on about, Monterey?" chuckled another man from the Obliviator's Headquarters.

"Just... just a moment ago, there was a man crouched over someone up there," Monterey stuttered as he pointed into the darkness of the alleyway.

"Don't be ridiculous, man," Diggory flouted as he pulled out his wand and lit it.

The light chased away the shadows and began revealing a normal looking alley. Trash, boxes, lids to rubbish bins. Then the beam of brightness brought a shoe into view. Not far from the shoe lay a forgotten, carved wooden rod. And just above that was a small, but distinct pool of thick redness.

The three men approached the items with caution, allowing the light to bathe the scene and make further detail more apparent.

"It's blood," the Obliviator breathed as he touched a fingertip to the crimson pool and felt its stickiness.

"Monterey," Amos uttered with reverence, "hurry back to the Ministry and tell them that we have a crime scene on our hands. We need to close off this alley to all visitors so that we can try and figure out what happened here."


	15. Pontner

**A/N: **Nine days compared to two months for an update is quite the improvement, wouldn't you all agree? And not only will the quicker update make you happy, but the juiciness of the chapter should please you as well. I hope you are all feeling ravenous for an exciting read because this chapter is chalk full of goodies, or so I tried to make it that way. But anyways, let's get on to the thank you part of this so you can read the chapter and tell me for yourselves what you think. A great big thanks to the following: _pottersgirl91, Mwhahahaha18, ForeverBlue90, justareader7883, Rin1507, Elliesmeow, Idle Writer of Crack, caughtinblackseyes, lucyferr, Dramione-Fan 17, CT1994, _and _ChamberlinofMusic_. You are all fantastic for reading and reviewing and so is everyone else who reads this fic; I really appreciate it. Now... happy reading!

**

* * *

Chapter 15 – Pontner**

"Did you see the article in _The Prophet_ today about the missing Auror?" Chau asked as he sat at breakfast with Hermione.

"No, I did not," his friend confessed as she looked up from her parents' letter. "I read the initial piece on her, but I haven't looked at the paper in days... I've been too busy trying to crack the puzzle that our Charms professor gave us."

"She's still missing, you know? They say it's foul play and that they have a few suspects," Chau Chang informed as he riffled through his bag for the newspaper. "But you know that means that they don't have any leads whatsoever," he added as he tossed the wizarding informational to his companion. Hermione shook the toast crumbs from the front page and laid down her fork as she unfolded the paper to read the article.

A smiling, petite blond gazed brightly at her from the picture just below the headline. Hermione knew this girl. She had a look about her face that said she was not all that far matured from her late teen years. In fact, as the article stated, the witch was only in her mid-twenties. She had just recently graduated from Auror Academy and had been on her way home to her apartment when she was ambushed and kidnapped. She had been one of the Aurors to respond to the break-in at Hermione's home at the beginning of the summer.

A furrow came to Hermione's brow as she deliberated over the picture of the youthful, missing witch. Could there be any connection to the man who had broken into Hermione's residence and the kidnapper? Was it the same wizard or an accomplice? Did they target young witches associated with the Ministry's Auror branch and academy? Or was she simply just jumping to conclusions?

"What's wrong with Cedric?" Chau whispered, breaking Hermione's concentration on the article about Amanda Pontner.

"Hmm?" Hermione mumbled, looking across at her friend, who was staring at something behind her. She turned, following his gaze to a table a short distance away from them in the dining hall. Diggory was sitting with a blond wizard, and he looked as though he had just been told his pet owl had died.

"He looks positively awful," Chau muttered. "What happened to him?"

"I'm not sure," Hermione dismissed in a relatively unconvincing manner.

"Right... you're not sure, and I'm headmaster of the academy," Chang pressed. "What happened to him?" he asked again with a firm tone. "You're his roommate, after all, so you should have some idea."

Hermione sighed; she hated to gossip. But was it truly gossiping if you were just answering a friend's sincere question?

"He broke up with his girlfriend."

"What? Really?" Chau exclaimed excitedly. "When?"

"I thought you were friends with him," Hermione hissed, looking around to make sure no one was listening. She felt as though she were back at Hogwarts discussing Voldemort with Harry and Ron. "You should be concerned for him, not celebrating."

"Darling, believe me, celebrating is definitely called for on this occasion. His worse half—and I say this because she certainly was _not_ his better half—was not suited for him. She just wasn't his type."

"If you say so," Hermione shrugged before stealing another glance over her shoulder.

Cedric looked absolutely miserable. His hair was tasseled, but not in his usual manner. Today he simply looked like a general mess in his wrinkled clothes with his downcast aura. He had been this way for a little over a week.

Why would he have broken up with Bethany if it caused him so much pain? Surely he could have worked through things with her instead of doing something so drastic and making himself feel so dispirited. But then again, Hermione was not part of that relationship, so she had no say at all in what occurred between the two. Nonetheless, she still felt somehow to blame for the way things turned out.

* * *

She opened her eyes as a groan rose behind chapped lips. She blinked, making sure her eyes truly were open because she had trouble telling in the darkness of her prison. She had lost track of time, so goodness only knew how long she had been wherever she was.

She dared not move, not only because she could not see in the pitch black around her, but because her body was throbbing with a constant dull ache. The smell of must, dirt, old, and something sickeningly rotten had her fearful of moving, too, as it tormented her sense of smell. The spot in which she laid was dirty but dry, and she felt somewhat safe there because she felt the wall at her back.

Huddling into the corner, she blinked rapidly and then stared hard into the darkness; she needed to try and discern something if she was to ever get out of there. She never wished more than she did now that she had her wand. If she just had that crucial instrument, she could light up the space around her and begin searching for an escape route. But she had lost her wand. It had fallen from her fingers when she hit the alley floor during their first confrontation.

With a sigh that scratched her raw throat, she used the wall to steady herself as she stood. Her lower back stretched until it felt as though it were on fire and her leg muscles tensed painfully, cramping at the movement. She winced away the aches and took a moment to settle what sense of unbalance she had. Her head pounded with a rushing sensation that made her feel as though she were at the end of a long tunnel filled with drums. She touched a hand to her forehead and grimaced once more. She had a cut there, and from the shooting pain that stabbed into her brain, she guessed that it was a rather nasty wound.

She sighed again, scratching her throat once more with putrid air, which made her cough deeply. Her ribs suffered the violent convulsions of her rasping as her stomach rumbled and screamed hungrily. Clutching the wall, she straightened and fought the rest of her coughing away as she felt along the brick surface. She was careful to take small, delicate steps so as not to trip or stumble upon uneven or unstable ground. Her toe bumped a crate a moment later, and she slid her foot around it, keeping a hand stretched out to touch the large, rough brick wall.

Once she had passed the box, she positioned herself with her hip close to the wall again and continued. As she meandered determinedly through the blackness, she came across many things: a wine rack, a colossal-sized chest, a broken chair, an abrasive feeling table, and a few smashed bottles. Then she found something that made her heart leap with excitement.

At first, she had been prepared to pass by the object, mistaking it for a low-lying, wooden box, but then she felt the unfinished, splintering banister. She made her way back to the bottom step and felt her way up onto it. She relied more heavily on the wall to guide her than the railing because she was unsure of just how trustworthy it really was. Counting, she took each step slowly and as quietly as possible, hoping the creak of the stairs would not carry too far.

Sixteen steps later, she was faced with a door. The handle was heavy and cold to the touch. When she tried to turn it, resistance met her efforts. She tried twisting the knob in the opposite direction, but still to no avail; she was locked in.

Pontner frowned, but would not be defeated as she continued to jiggle and jar the door against its frame. She knew that older homes were notorious for having unreliable doors, and if she was correct in guessing, the feel of the basement made her assume that this particular building was at least one hundred years old. If she could just twist the handle enough and rock the door against its frame, she could possibly slip the handle's latch out of the plate. With the cold feeling of the door, surely the wood was not swollen with humidity, and it would be simple to jimmy the door.

After a few moments, she paused with her ear to the wood to make sure that no one had heard her. She was still no closer to getting the lock to slip, so it was possible that the door had been locked by magic instead. As she listened, she heard only the sighs and moans of the old house. Was her captor not home?

She leaned away from the door, and as she did, she took note of how thin the most inner panel of wood was. She tapped her fingers lightly against different parts of the door, comparing the sound of thicker, sturdier wood to thinner, more decorative panels. Pausing for a moment, she considered the design and wondered if she could break away the inner piece.

Her fingers trembled as she touched them to the center of the door and gave a push, testing the resistance. The panel bowed against the gentle force, which brought a smile of pure alleviation to her lips. She pushed harder and heard the wood crack. Hesitating once more, she listened intently for any sign of life on the other side of her dark prison, but again there was nothing. She pushed and thrust, each time earning a short, sharp snap of wood as it loosened from the rest of the door.

She was unsure of how long she had been urging the panel from its position, but she was finally able to see out into the corridor through a crack. The dim, grayish light that peered through the crevice stung her eyes, but she had never been happier to see such a sight. Excitement got the best of her, and she gave the panel a stiff, hard nudge. It split down the center and one of the two pieces fell away, clattering to the hardwood floor of the hallway.

She froze in fear, her heart stalling for a beat before hammering nervously against her breastbone. She listened in sheer fright, waiting for the sound of her capturer to come tearing down the corridor after her.

* * *

"Cedric! C'mon, mate!" bellowed Diggory's blond friend as he stood outside of his dorm room and banged on the door with his fist. He looked back over his shoulder at the other boys who were waiting with him, annoyance evident on his features. "You're not even dating her anymore, and she still manages to ruin a guys' day out!"

Hermione approached slowly, her stomach doing flip-flops and her palms sweating slightly. She felt awkward around Cedric's friends, but she needed to get into her dormitory.

"Excuse me, boys," she spoke softly, edging her way towards the door.

The tallest of Diggory's friends elbowed the blond, who was still beating on the door as though he were trying to batter it down. The blond looked back and glared for a moment before following the tallest's line of vision to Hermione.

"Well, good afternoon, Miss...?"

"Granger," she replied. "Hermione Granger."

"Hermione, huh?" the blond beamed, now leaning against the door as a sly expression flowed over his previously miffed features. "That's a lovely, unique name... Now, Hermione... It just rolls off the tongue nice, doesn't it?" Here he winked and stepped closer to her, bending his head nearer to hers. "Do you think that a pretty young lady like you could do my blokes and I a favor? It's really only a small thing that we ask of you... and normally we wouldn't ask anything of a girl anyways because we hate to be a bother, but..."

Hermione gazed at him nervously as butterflies bounced off the walls of her stomach. He was so close that she could smell his cologne, and though it was nice, the scent was overpowering in such a close proximity, so it clouded her mind. His eyes were gray depths that matched his silver tongue in quickness and confusion-inducement and that only made her all the more dumbfounded.

"What... what is it that you need?" she finally stammered out, shaking her head a little as she stepped back from him.

He smiled with mock innocence, but the cunning and self-pleasure that whirled around behind his eyes was soon spreading his lips wider in satisfaction.

"See, we're all mates with Cedric, and we're worried about him," the blond elaborated chiefly. "We haven't seen him since breakfast, and we want to cheer him up because we know he's in the room sulking over what's-her-face--"

"Bethany," Hermione interrupted.

"Yeah, yeah," the blond waved away. "Thing is... Ced's got the door locked. Think you can get us in?" When Hermione failed to answer, the blond snatched her hand quickly in his own and gave it a squeeze. He stepped close once more, closing the gap between them to less than a foot of space. "C'mon... for us. We'd be eternally grateful... It's for Cedric's own good."

Hermione had a feeling that if Diggory had locked these guys out of the room, then that was what was best for him because he obviously wanted to be alone with his thoughts for the moment.

"I'll try," she lied as she squeezed away from his grasp and slid up past the trio of boys to get to her door. She turned her back on them and knocked lightly, hoping to catch Cedric's attention. "Cedric... could you let me in?" No response came from within the room, so she knocked again.

After waiting another moment, she turned back the group of boys behind her and frowned.

"Maybe it would be better if you just came back later," she suggested.

"I think she's right," agreed the tallest as he laid a hand on the blond's shoulder.

"But he's supposed to go to the pub with us tonight!" grouched Diggory's platinum-haired friend.

"We'll just go without him," offered the third and quietest of the trio.

Hermione watched as they slowly wandered off, each glancing back over their shoulder at her as she gazed after them. Once she was sure they were gone, she turned back to the door and was about to knock again when she heard the lock click. Half of Cedric's face appeared in the crack between the frame and the door as he peeked out at her.

"Thanks," he mumbled as he stepped back and let her in. "I didn't think that they would give up quite so easily."

"Why are you avoiding them? They are your friends, aren't they?"

"Yeah," Diggory sighed as he shuffled pokily back to his bed, where it appeared he had been lazing for some time. "I just don't feel like going out with them tonight because all they ever want to do is drink, hit on girls, flirt with the waitresses, or be rowdy."

"And you disapprove of this behavior?"

"I didn't used to," he confessed as he pulled the blind up to watch out the window as the first stars of the night twinkled into existence. "I just don't feel like joining them tonight."

"You know," Hermione advised a moment later as she surveyed him standing at the window, "avoiding your friends and isolating yourself is not going to make you feel any better. In fact, it will only make you feel worse."

He looked back over his shoulder at her, and she could see hurt in his eyes. It was etched into the furrow in his brow and filling the frown lines around his mouth.

"Well excuse me if I do not feel like going out on the town and celebrating my new single status," he snapped gruffly.

She bit back her retort, not wanting to snag anymore loose nerves with him. He was upset and hurting, so she did not need to badger him any further. In fact, she felt that she should probably do just the opposite and give him his space.

Hermione gathered some clothes and a few books into her bag and headed for the door once more. She stopped for only a second to look back at him, her heart lurching painfully at the sight of him standing so mournfully in the dying twilight.

"I hope you feel better," she supplied as she slipped back out into the corridor.

He bowed his head when the door whispered its closing. Shutting his eyes, he warred with the idea of going after her. If truth be told, he would have rather she had stayed in the room. Her presence brought him a strange sense of comfort, and after her explosion with Bethany in defense of his character, he felt even more at ease with her. To him, it felt as though she was the only one here at the academy that truly saw him or cared to see him. It was as though—as odd as it seemed—she saw him for more than his grades and ability to play Quidditch or his good looks and charm. Despite the fact that they had not been roommates all that long or the fact that they had had their differences at first, Cedric felt like she was quickly becoming a close friend.

* * *

A raucous down the hall awoke him from where he rested at the dining room table. He sat up straight, his back protesting as his spine willed itself to stay hunched over. Roden ignored the dull ache running along his back muscles and rose from his chair. He entered the corridor and looked to the left, towards the basement. Something had made a noise; he was sure of it. He left the dining room and walked silently, but briskly towards the place where he kept his prisoner. A clock in one of the many rooms along the hallway began chiming the hour in a hollow, eerie toll. Then he saw it. There was a slender piece of wood lying on the floor.

He quickened his pace, but was not quite to the scene to investigate as a hand came through a hole in the door. As he reached for the wand, the top half of his prisoner came crawling out of the bottom of the basement door. She gasped as she saw him approaching at a run. Scrambling, she almost fell; however, she was able to shakily right herself and begin sprinting down the gloomy, ill-lighted passageway. Her heart leaped into her throat as he fired a curse at her, which was intended to lock her legs together. She just managed to dodge it, causing herself to fall against the wall as a stand and a vase of black marble-like objects exploded with the force of the spell and scattered onto the floor.

The sound of tiny, glass balls hitting hardwood filled the air while she attempted to right herself and continue running. Instead, she stumbled and staggered into an open room to her right. Her eyes landed on the large, long windows within. As she ran forward, she grabbed a shovel for the fireplace and threw it at the glass panes. Her heart sunk when the metal instrument only bounced off the window, a metallic wobbling sound echoing into the air. Without a second thought, she whirled around and was headed back out of the room when Roden entered, blocking the doorway. She froze, her brain scuffling frantically for not only a way to escape, but a way to protect herself as he raised his wand at her. If she could only recall her Auror training, then she might have a chance.

The first rule to her defensive courses was to always keep your wand at the ready, but since she was wandless, she would have to resort to something else. As her brain recalled the second rule, Roden fired another jinx at her, which she dove away from. Crawling behind a sophisticated-looking settee, she remembered that any witch or wizard who found themselves in battle without a wand should resort to tiring out their attacker. This rule was of no use to her either, though. She was certain that her body, as beaten, malnourished, and abused as it was, would tire long before his. This man was undoubtedly ruthless. The third rule had said that if your attacker shows no immediate signs of fatigue that you should try to get their wand away from them. This was a dangerous task, though. She sincerely questioned if she could get close enough to disarm her assailant. Her training was failing her, so she would just have to resort to her own cunning.

As she crawled along quickly in the shadows of the furniture, she came across the fireplace shovel she had thrown earlier. Seizing the iron tool, she tried to get a look at where her opponent was in the room. She peered around the sofa rapidly, earning her another fired curse as well as his position. He stood in front of the fireplace, his wand aloft and at the ready.

"Come out, come out, little Auror," he taunted, trying to see around the couch to where she was hiding. "It will only hurt a little when you do," he chuckled sinisterly.

"Go to hell," she growled, clutching the shovel's handle tighter. If she could only get closer, she would give him one good whack on the head with it and surely that would do enough damage to allow her an agile flight.

"I'm already there," he laughed harshly. "Mudbloods and half-breeds run amuck in the wizarding world, so what could possibly be worse?"

She normally would not listen to such a psycho's insolent babbling, but she made a quick connection. He was undoubtedly a Death Eater to the deceased Dark Lord, Voldemort, and he still harbored many of the prejudices that such a sadistic group had thrived on. Those prejudices and biased ways of thinking only angered her because she, herself, was a halfblood witch.

"You're a dying breed," she teased, trying to lure him over to the settee so that she could smash his skull in. "Death Eaters are fast becoming extinct and there's nothing that you can do about it!"

"Wrong!" he snarled. "So long as there are aristocratic purebloods in this world, our beliefs will never die out!" He was taking the bait, and he proved that by stepping into the center of the room, his eyes never leaving the sofa where she hid. "Now come out and face me, unless you want to prove that Aurors are nothing but cowards... Are you only capable of fighting me in numbers?"

"I hardly think this is a fair fight since you have a wand and I do not," she argued, peering under the couch at his feet. She was in too awkward of a position to grab the rug and yank it out from under him, or else she would have tried.

"A trivial detail," he shrugged.

"Put down the wand and fight me one-on-one... fairly!"

"Fine, then," he chortled nastily. "I shall lay it over here." He took a few steps back to a table along the wall and pretended to lay down his wand while really, he concealed it up his sleeve. "Now... come out and face me."

She hesitated a moment, but who could blame her? It was natural not to trust someone as devious and mentally ill as this man was. She rose into a crouched position and peered over the back of the settee.

His gray-blue eyes appeared as though they had been chipped from an ice block, which made his lazy smirk seem sinister. His thin, pale face was skeletal and therefore all the more awful as she rose fully and began to step cautiously around the furniture. Her eyes never left him while she paced forward. The scene was very much like a face-off out of an old Muggle western movie her father used to watch repeatedly. Her heart hammered in the silence, and she hoped that he could not hear it because she did not want him to know that fear flowed anywhere in her veins with the adrenaline and blood.

She had never faced off with someone like this, at least not on her own. There was strength and courage in numbers, and right now, her numbers were slim, even if they were fair.

"I will enjoy hearing you give me the answers that I want while you scream in pain on the floor before me," he stated calmly as she came to a stop a few feet in front of him. She was still clutching the small shovel as she sneered at him for his comment. Her eyes darted to the table where his wand should have been, but when she did not see it, she felt a sense of panic grip her. As her eyes flew back to his face, he raised his wand and leered vindictively. "_Crucio!_"

She fell to her knees and dropped the shovel, gripping her elbows and doubling in on herself. She could not, would not scream. Biting her lip, Pontner felt blood fill her mouth, but the pain in her lip was nonexistent next to the fiery anguish ripping through her body. Nerves were pinching tight; muscles stretched, convulsed, cramped, and gave the illusion that they were tearing themselves apart. Sweat broke out on her forehead and her heart seized. The pain was becoming too much. Colors were popping before her eyes and a blackness was claiming her vision every few seconds. She gasped for air, but her lungs felt as though she were breathing in water rather than oxygen. Bile rose and projected from her mouth, splattering her hands as she tried to stay on all fours. She was losing control of herself as she dropped onto her side and hugged her ribs. A groan left her lips, and she kicked out, toppling a regal but aged end table.

"Give me what I want now," he ordered as he squatted next to her and released his curse.

She panted harshly, her chest feeling like someone was ramming a stake into it and her body riving with the feeling of being stabbed with hundreds of needles all over.

"Tell me where the Auror Academy and Hermione Granger are," he growled, fisting his fingers in her hair and forcing her to look at him.

She would have spat on him if she could have mustered the strength and made her muscles work, but Pontner was too preoccupied with keeping silent and glaring at him as she tried to will the aches and soreness away.

"Tell me!" he commanded coarsely through gritted teeth. He shook her head and stared hard into her eyes, watching as she bordered on madness.

"N-no," she spoke on a broken breath.

He growled ferociously and threw her head back to the ground. Roden stamped his foot down onto her head and snarled the curse again, restraining the urge to crush her skull under his boot as her body thrashed on the floor.

He could not keep torturing her like this because her mind would snap and seep into an all-consuming lunacy forever. Then he would never gain the information he so desperately wanted. The information that he needed.

Her scream broke the air, piercing like a train whistle through early morning fog, and he stopped. He had used the Cruciatus Curse enough to know that when they began shrieking against their will, they were growing ever close to the ledge that was the margin for the cliff of insanity. However, no matter how gone a person's mind was, their family was never far from thought, and he would use that to his advantage.

"Tell me where Hermione Granger is or else I will hunt down your family and inflict the same treatment I am giving you now upon them," he threatened. "I know all about your blood-traitorous mother and Muggle father... Your halfbreed older brother and younger sister, too... Do you know how simple it would be to snatch her while she wonders through Hogsmeade on the weekend?"

Fear struck her then, and he saw it in her eyes. He gripped her blond strands once more and coerced her head back so that she was staring him in the eyes as well. Roden ordered her again to tell him, and this time, she broke to protect her family.


	16. Dreadful Delivery

**A/N: **Well, it seems as though I'm getting back into the swing of this updating thing once again. Six days between updates is better than nine and certain better than over two months. If I keep this up, I might get back into the habit of updating each week. But let's not get too far ahead of ourselves--or rather me--lest we jinx my improved updating status.

Now, as for the chapter, well... once again I didn't get to put all the events that I wanted to into this chapter. If I had, it would have turned out to be entirely too long. I try to limit each chapter to at least seven to eight pages--sometimes nine--in Open Office. Had I gone on with what I had in mind for this chapter, I would have ended up with well over twelve, for sure. However, just like with chapter fifteen, there's always the next one. With that said, I'm going to give my thanks to those of you who reviewed fifteen and let you get on to reading.

Thanks to: _justareader7883, pottersgirl91, Rin1507, Dramione-Fan 17, Elliesmeow, ChamberlinofMusic_, and _CT1994._

_

* * *

_**Chapter 16 – Dreadful Delivery**

"I love the fact that classes are cancelled today," Ron gloated as he wandered through town with his two best friends.

The academy had closed its classroom doors as the professors, students, and the Headmaster attended a small memorial for Amanda Pontner.

Her body had finally been found in the alleyway where she had first disappeared nearly two weeks prior. She had been brutally beaten both physically and magically judging by her appearance and her assailant was said to still be at large. It had been a sad day for Aurors everywhere, indeed.

"It was not exactly for a good reason, you know," Hermione scolded disapprovingly. "Someone _died_!"

"Which is all the more proof that you should not be an Auror," Weasley stated in a turn-around of tone. "This job is entirely too dangerous for a girl."

Hermione pursed her lips and looked as though she were going to deck Ron—or worse, attack him with canaries—so Harry interjected.

"Are you going to the Halloween party at the pub this weekend?" he quizzed his brown-haired friend.

Hermione continued to lour at Ron for a moment before answering, but her eyes stayed glued in ire on the tallest of the Golden Trio.

"I'm not certain," she replied. "It's a costume party, right?"

"Yes," Harry supplied. "Ron and I will be there... so will Neville and some other friends as well as half the school."

"What are you two dressing up as?"

"Members of the Weird Sisters," Ron interrupted as Harry opened his mouth to respond. "We've already got our costumes."

"I don't know," Hermione sighed a second later as she bit back a giggle. She had a hard time picturing Ron and Harry in the attire that it would require to resemble the famous, musical wizards. "I have no idea what to be or even where to get a costume... especially not on such short notice." Halloween was only a week away, which did not leave a lot of time to prepare.

"You could always just wear all white, Spellotape a horn to the center of your forehead, and pretend to be a unicorn," Ron joked as he smirked at her. She frowned angrily and shook her head before quickening her pace. She had no desire to walk in his presence any longer.

"There's any number of things that you could be," Harry tried to encourage as he lengthened his strides to match her hurried steps. He had no idea why Ron insisted on tormenting her in such a manner. Although, if truth be told, he had a pretty good hunch. Harry's guess was that his best mate was still a bit irritated over the fact that Hermione was now at the academy with them, especially considering recent events in the Auror department.

"Like what?" she challenged, hoping her bespectacled companion could be more helpful than Ron.

"Wear some of your nicest clothes, put on some make-up, and say you're a Veela," Harry said with a wink and a smile. She cracked a grin because she could not help it. Playfully, she gave him a light punch in the ribs and stopped in front of a shop window. "What about being a banshee? You could just shred Ron's old dress robes and make your face really pale and wail a lot." Here Hermione snickered as Ron glared at the back of Harry's head. "Or maybe a Quidditch player? Just borrow some of our old Quidditch uniforms." She appeared to seriously consider the last option before shaking her head.

"I never did handle a broom well, so I don't think the Quidditch attire would agree with me either," Hermione elaborated.

"But that's the whole point of Halloween," Harry coaxed, "or at least the Muggle version... Be something you're not everyday."

"You could dress as a house-elf and pass out flyers for spew while you're at it," Ron taunted. "I'm sure that would be the only time you would get someone to listen... while they were drunk, that is."

"Ron," Harry hissed. "What's with you?"

"C'mon, Harry!" the youngest Weasley boy finally erupted as though he were sick of the charade. "The death of Amanda Pontner just proves the point I tried to make over the summer: Hermione should not be here! It's too dangerous for her!"

"Thank you for your concern, Ronald, but I am not exactly helpless, you know," she fired in. "When will you stop thinking that I am?"

"When you stop being a girl!"

"That's a little difficult since I was born one!"

Harry felt like melting into the sidewalk as the two stood shouting at each other. People were slowing to a stop and staring as Hermione began jamming her finger into Ron's chest while she loudly and angrily read his pedigree.

"Enough! Stop!" Harry ordered on a bellow. "Can't you two just get on for once?" His friends leered at each other in response, the distaste and wrath evident in their blazing eyes. "Now, let's--"

"Hermione!" Chau Chang exploded as he exited a nearby shop with a dark-haired boy.

"Hello, Chau," she beamed as she turned to her friend. She glanced briefly at the boy to Chau's left and realized she recognized him. He had joined Chau, herself, and a few others during a few study groups, but she knew him by more than this. She had ran into him on her second day at the academy. He had been leaving his dorm, and she had been searching for Harry and Ron. "Afternoon, Alec." The blue-eyed, black-haired boy smiled pleasantly at her, his cerulean orbs effervescent in the afternoon sun.

"Nice to see you again, Hermione," he returned, nodding politely in acknowledgment of her.

"Did you hear that there's going to be a costume party?" Chau broke in again, his exhilaration bubbling out into the air around them. "I mean, I'm not much for the drinks and atmosphere of a pub, but a costume party would be fantastic!"

"You are going, then?" Hermione questioned.

"Certainly!" he replied brilliantly. "Aren't you?" he asked a second later as he saw the frown twitching at the corner of her mouth.

"I don't have a costume," she confessed on a shrug.

"I can take care of that," the half vampire vowed on a wink.

"You have something in mind?" Hermione inquired, hope springing into her voice. She would definitely attend if Chau could come up with something suitable.

"C'mon, let's get to work," he remarked as he grabbed her hand and began pulling her back towards the academy. Hermione looked back over her shoulder and saw that Alec was keeping up easily with his long strides, but Harry and Ron were standing dumbfounded where they had left them. She waved quickly and then turned to race along with her half human friend.

* * *

Roden could not believe his luck as he stood feigning interest in a shop window. At first, he had thought that his eyes and mind were playing tricks on him. But this was not a trick, and he knew that as his gaze shifted from the reflection in the window to the girl racing past with two boys—one Asian and the other blue-eyed and raven-haired.

Hermione Granger had just sprinted by him in a whirlwind of laughter and smiles.

He looked around quickly and then set off after them, his light pace jog keeping them just in sight, but also allowing him to stay far enough back that they would not notice him.

* * *

"I can't believe that you don't have make-up," Chau sighed disappointedly. "I'm going to have to go into town tomorrow during lunch or after classes and find something for you."

"Really, you don't have to," Hermione persuaded. "I'm not much for make-up... It makes me feel like I'm suffocating. It just feels... _alien_ to me when I wear it."

"I won't take no for an answer," her friend stated terminally as he fingered the skirt he had shredded and attached ribbon to. "How can any Halloween costume be complete without make-up?" Hermione opened her mouth to retort, but Chau held up his hand and shook his head slowly. "Now go to bed. We've slaved long enough and finally got the start to a decent costume, so I'll see you in class tomorrow."

"Actually," Hermione mumbled, looking abashed, "I was wondering if I could stay here tonight?"

"Why?" Chau quizzed. "Are you and Cedric fighting again?"

"No, we're not," Hermione confessed. "It's just that I figured since your roommate was out for the night, I could keep you company." Chau gave her an incredulous stare that bore impressionably into her guilty conscience like a knife through warm butter. "Fine, fine," she huffed, looking away from his intense gaze. "I feel awkward around him because he's terribly depressed, and I feel partly to blame for it."

"To blame?" the Asian repeated. "How, exactly, does that factor in?"

"I was the cause for the fight that finally ended his relationship with Bethany," Hermione confessed, nervously fidgeting with a pair of scissors they had used while making her costume.

"That was not your fault," Chang assured his friend as he gathered up some cut up panty hose and Spellotape. "The break-up between them was a long time in the making, and you might have been the final broomstick that broke the hag's back, but you were not solely to blame."

Hermione released a heavy, lonesome sigh and laid the scissors on Chau's trunk lid as she picked at discarded snippets of ribbon in the carpet.

"I just feel bad when I see him with that frown on his face and that lifeless look in his eyes," Hermione conceded, her voice coming out as nothing more than a pained whisper. "It kind of tears me up to see him so downhearted and... _empty_." Silence followed her statement, and it made her feel all the more ungainly for having admitted what she did. When she looked up at Chau, she found that he was smiling fondly at her, his almond-shaped eyes sparkling with mischief. What could he be so damned content about?

"You like him," he accused after a moment of her staring in bewilderment at him.

"What?" she choked out, unsure if she had heard him correctly.

"Cedric," Chau said hastily. "You have a crush on him and that is part of the reason that you feel so guilty. It's not because you feel entirely to blame for the break-up, but because you are secretly happy about it, even if you feel like the cause. Knowing that he is single—and single because of you—has you excited about this! And I don't blame you, I would be."

"Wait! You just said that this wasn't my fault a second ago and now you say it is?" she exclaimed.

"Well, of course it isn't your fault, that's not what I meant. But you keep blaming yourself because you can't help but want him for yourself now that he's back on the market. And again, I don't blame you."

"That's absurd, and you know it," Hermione hissed. "He's just a roommate, who I've come to see as a sort of friend, and I am always concerned about my friends."

"Whatever you say," Chau chuckled in mocking. Contentment lit his pale, effeminate face as he tossed the trash in the bin and began gathering spare wire hangers.

"Chau, stop!" Hermione whined desperately. "I'll leave if you don't quit teasing!"

"Hermione and Cedric sittin' in a tree, K-I-S-S-I-N-G," Chau tormented in a sing-song voice. "First comes love--"

"Chau!" Hermione gasped. Her face was turning red and her stomach was nervously turning. "That's it," she huffed as he continued to happily chant his little rhyme and shove things in his trunk. "I'm leaving." She rose quickly from the floor at the foot of his bed and stalked towards the door. She looked back at where he sat with a grin plastered to his face, still humming cheerfully while he bobbed his head from side to side. She waved and then shook her head in slight disapproval as she left his room.

As Hermione meandered down the corridor, she saw a sight that had her eyes growing wide and her jaw dropping. Ahead of her was Bethany and the older girl was in quite the compromising position with Cedric'c blond-haired companion. He had Diggory's ex pressed against the wall, his hands roaming her figure roughly and quickly as his mouth greedily worked against hers.

Hermione froze and felt panic strike her. She could not simply walk past them as though she did not see them. She just knew Bethany would not let her wander by without trouble. She had to get back to Chau's room without being noticed. She whipped around and was about to make a run for it when she heard Bethany's squeal. Hermione had undoubtedly been seen. She glanced back over her shoulder and saw the older female righting herself hastily. Bethany glared at her, her gaze full of malice and contempt, just like the day she had left Hermione and Cedric's dorm.

"If you breathe a word of this to Cedric," Bethany threatened as she advanced, "so help me, I will hex you into next week."

"Now, now, ladies," the blond soothed in a calm, collected manner as Hermione opened her mouth to counter. "Let's not be nasty or hateful. Cedric's darling little roommate won't say a thing... will you?"

"Why should I?" Hermione spoke plainly and unemotionally. "This is none of my business... He is just my roommate, your ex, and your supposed best friend... three people who have nothing in common except one person and therefore nothing to really talk about, so if you'll excuse me..." She pushed by the two and was about to continue down the corridor when Bethany made a grab for her. Hermione skirted her thin, clawing fingers, feeling them rake through her brown curls while she whisked out her wand and pointed it at Bethany.

"I don't think that is necessary," Diggory's friend cautioned lightly, one arm holding Bethany back as the other reached out towards Hermione. "How about you just put that away and be on your way?" he suggested as he pushed at the younger girl's wand tip.

Hermione lowered her wand with a stiff jerk, eyeing Bethany in disfavor as she shoved the instrument back into her pocket. Turning on her heel, the brunette stormed back to her dormitory, hatred flaring in her chest.

She wrenched open the door and flowed in like an out-of-control fire. Her aura smacked of displeasure and fury as she reran the scene in her mind. She contemplated angrily what would have happened had Cedric's friend not stepped in. Hermione could just see how she would have attacked the irritating girl with a mad swarm of conjured hornets. Or maybe she would have enlarged her ears and nose and given her a mass breakout of puss-oozing boils. The more Hermione thought about it, the more irate and rage-filled she became. She was practically itching for a fight, so when the door to her dorm closed, she brandished her wand at the intruder.

Cedric's eyes went wide, and he dropped the parcel he was holding as he shouted, "Whoa! Hey!"

Realization dawned on her face and her arm drooped some.

"I'm sorry," she half gasped as she lowered her wand the rest of the way and then tucked it away incredulously. She could not believe she had almost jinxed her own roommate.

"Here," he said as he picked up the box he had dropped and held it out to her, his stance suggesting he was still a bit leery of her for the moment.

"What's that?" she asked, confused by the gift he was offering her.

"I have no idea," he professed as he stepped closer and continued to hold the long, rectangular package out to her. "Some second year student gave it to me. He said he was asked to deliver it to you, but had no idea where your dorm was. He knew we roomed together and asked me to get it to you."

Hermione took it and was surprised by the weight of it. He had held it out to her as though it weighed nothing; however, its weightiness was comparable to a bag of potatoes or a gallon of pumpkin juice. She sat it down on her bed and began pulling at the taped ends. Once she had removed the strip of adhesive covering the top two box flaps, she peered inside and found mounds of tissue paper and a letter. She plucked it from atop the obscured heap and unfolded it carefully, her brain working methodically to figure out who could have sent her such a parcel. Her parents and the Weasleys always post marked their gifts to her, so it was not them because there had been no address of any kind on the outside. Her friends would have hand-delivered the package themselves, so that eliminated them as well. Giving up, she looked to the letter and found only a few short words written there_._

_With deepest conviction, I wait_

_'Til my hands close 'round your throat in hate._

_Your death, my most beloved dream._

_My lullaby is your fearful scream._

_Live in dread and fright_

_'Til I snatch you one lonely night._

_Your heart will tremble_

_And your body I will painfully disassemble._

_R. A._

Hermione stared in disgusted disarray at the letter in her hand. Who was playing this sick joke? Her attention went from the letter to the open parcel on her bed. If this letter was so morbid and hate-filled, then what could possibly be wrapped up in all that paper?

She gingerly used the corner of the letter to lift the first piece of tissue away. Tucking back the next, she felt a strange sense of foreboding grip her. Nausea rose and crashed down on her like a mighty wave to the shoreline when she flipped back a third piece. Orange fur was now visible. Feeling that she would rather turn and run, Hermione dutifully flicked away the last piece of tissue with the corner of the letter. Her heart sank and a sudden chill overtook her. Tears sprang into her eyes and direful fingers of terror squeezed her throat. A scream rippled out and startled Diggory.

He leaped up from his bed where he had been watching her open the gift. She spun away and bounced into him, quickly clutching at his torso as though holding on for dear life. He gaped at the top of her head while she painfully nuzzled her face into his chest. His gray eyes drifted slowly from her to the open box. Inside was a sight that Cedric thought most sickening, and he pulled her closer as he gazed on in gruesome awe and her body wracked with sobs.

A dead orange tom cat laid staring up in feral-eyed terror, a hiss frozen on its whiskered face.

* * *

"You have no idea who could have done this?" Archibald questioned as he shoved another cup of tea across his desk to Hermione

She sat shaking in her chair, her face splotched and damp from tears. Cedric Diggory sat in a chair angled next to hers, his eyes intent upon her sorrowful and fearful features. He felt so much sympathy for her, but he could not say why.

"No enemies anywhere that you can think of?" the Headmaster interrogated as he watched her studiously. When she shook her head, he sighed and rose from his desk. "I will take this... package," he muttered, looking to the box sitting by his fireplace that held the dead cat and offensive letter, "to Minister Shacklebolt himself and see if he can have someone at the Ministry determine where it came from, how the animal was killed, or anything of that nature."

Hermione winced as she thought about the dead creature inside the cardboard container. Who could be so heartless that they would murder an animal like that and then send it to her like it was a treasured gift?

"You're sure that there is nothing that I can tell the Minister when I give him this that might help the investigation?"

"Aside from the obvious fact that it might be connected to the break-in at my house over the summer, no," Hermione whispered hoarsely. "I can only fathom that this is someone's cruel attempt at a joke, or worse... someone trying to make an allusion to my dead cat, Crookshanks." She wrapped her arms around her midsection and began to rock gently, trying to ease away the deathly fateful feeling that plagued her.

"I promise you, Miss Granger, that you are safe here," Boulstridge vowed, placing a hand on her hunched shoulder. "Mr. Diggory, would you escort Miss Granger back to the dormitory and see to it that she takes the Sleeping Draught the nurse delivered?"

"Yes, Headmaster," Cedric replied, rising from his seat and holding out a hand to his roommate.

She made no move to accept his gesture. In fact, the only movement she made was that of her lips as she asked, "Will you have the Minister send someone to check on my parents?"

"Yes, I will," Archibald promised.

"Do not startle them if at all possible, please... And be sure to let me know as soon as the Minister gets word of anything, won't you?" she begged.

"It is of the greatest priority to me," the Headmaster committed.

It was only then that Hermione allowed Cedric to lift her out of the chair by her elbow. He kept a protective hand at her spine as they left the Headmaster's office and ventured back to their room together. Once there, he opened the door into the room and was about to usher in when he made her pause.

"Let me check it first," he advised, stepping ahead of her and keeping her close to his back. When he had assured that the room was safe and without unwanted surprise, he closed the door and coaxed her to her bed. "Get some sleep," he commanded softly, handing her the Sleeping Draught while he pulled out the chair at her desk and sat down there.

"What are you going to do?" she asked as she looked unsavorily at the spot on her bed where the box had been perched earlier. She averted her eyes and uncorked the potion, tipping the small bottle against her lips. She drank down the thick, purple substance as he answered her.

"Sit up and wait until you've gone to sleep."

"But you have classes tomorrow," she pointed out guiltily.

"I know that," he shrugged, looking up at her in an unaffected manner. "I will survive a little missed sleep."

She wanted to hug him then, to wrap her arms around his neck and let her gratitude soak from her skin to his. Instead, she made do by nodding her understanding and thanking him quietly.

"Can I sleep in your bed, please?" she asked like a child who was fearful of the dark.

He understood exactly why she asked as he noted the way her eyes stared unblinkingly at the spot where she had placed the box containing the dead cat earlier. He nodded in response, watching as she toed off her shoes and pulled back the covers on his bed. She crawled in, turning her back to him, and pulling the covers over herself until she was safely secured there.

He sat watching her figure until her breathing slowed and the soft sound of her murmuring alerted him to the fact that she was dreaming. He began to slouch as the night went on, finally resting his head upon his arms, and falling asleep at her desk.


	17. Morbid Mirror

**A/N:**Hello again, my dear readers! I give unto you another chapter--maybe not as action-packed as previous ones, but a chapter nonetheless. I hope it quells your _Unbreakable _desire for the moment. First, as per usual, thanks to my reviewers is in order, so here goes: _pottersgirl91, justareader7883, lucyferr, Elliesmeow, Rin1507, ForeverBlue90, Cribellate, Dramione-Fan 17, _a_nd 1Purple-monkey-dishwasher8. _Thank you, my sweets, for your devotion to reading and reviewing this fic!

**

* * *

Chapter 17 – Morbid Mirror**

Cedric toppled out of his chair as he woke with a start. Someone was screaming and sobbing loudly. He scrambled to his feet, realizing it was Hermione.

"Are you all right? What is it?" he demanded concernedly as he dropped down onto his bed and gripped her shoulders. He felt oddly like an older brother or father checking on their distraught child.

"I was being smothered by a pillow and then there was all this blood, so I ran out of the room and saw my mother and father being buried alive in the courtyard by some faceless person," she cried, looking at her hands as though something were there. She knew now exactly how Harry had felt all those times that he had awoke from a nightmare about Voldemort. The terror and helplessness were overwhelming and left her trembling.

Diggory grabbed her hands in his and gave them a squeeze.

"It's all right," he hushed. "You're not being smothered and there's no blood." Here he lifted her hands and inspected them himself. Her fingers were so slender and delicate next to his long, nibble ones. Her palms were dwarfed by the broad span of his hand, but they seemed to fit so well together. "I'm certain your parents are fine. There's no one here but you and me." He eased her back onto the pillows and pulled the covers up to her shoulders, even though she was sweating. Cedric handed her some tissues and stayed perched on the edge of his bed, watching as she sniffled and looked around nervously in the garish dawn light.

He could not explain it, but he had the nagging impulse to brush her matted hair from where it stuck to her forehead. To keep himself in check, he gripped the comforter and turned his gaze to the upturned chair.

"I didn't mean to wake you like that," she mumbled embarrassedly. "I'm sorry."

"It's really all right," he waved away as he stood and crossed over to the chair. Just as he righted the piece of furniture, there was a knock at the door. His brow furrow, and he glanced at Hermione for a second before walking cautiously to the entrance to their room. "Who is it?" he called through the wood as he leaned a shoulder against it and looked back at his roommate, who was sitting up in his bed, her fingers reaching to his desk and wrapping around her wand handle.

"Headmaster Boulstridge. I need to speak with you both," the knocker replied.

Cedric stepped back from the door and opened it swiftly to see Archibald standing in the brightly lit corridor, three students accompanying him, only one of whom Cedric recognized.

"Miss Granger," Boulstridge addressed as he swept into the dorm, the three students hesitating behind him. "Kingsley sent some Aurors to your place of residence in Crawley, and they found another package upon your parents porch. Apparently it had been undiscovered, so once they checked on your parents, they left without disturbance."

"Another package?" she repeated, sliding slowly out of the bed and tucking her wand away. "What was inside?" she asked as she kept her eyes glued to the man before her in desperate fear. "My parents are okay?"

Boulstridge looked as though he would rather not answer, but he finally conceded, "Your parents are perfectly fine. The package, however... contained a venomous snake... There was a letter affixed to the outside." The Headmaster pulled at his coat lapel and reached for an inside pocket, pulling out a small, quarter-folded piece of paper. He appeared indecisive about handing over the note as he half-heartedly held it out to her. Hermione took the paper and felt dread rippling the length of her body.

_Your daughter will soon be no more, and then, all my pain will be yours._

_With fondest hatred,_

_R. A._

She crumbled the letter and threw it at the waste bin, missing entirely.

"What did the Aurors find out about the package sent to me?" she demanded, her voice shaking slightly.

"The cat had been killed with the Killing Curse, but other than that, there was no trace of origin. The snake was still alive and quite angry, so it was likely that he would have struck anyone who opened the parcel. As it was, the Aurors at the Ministry put the thing under a glass dome and opened it up by magic." The Headmaster did not need to say anything more. Hermione could just imagine the snake lashing out from the box. She dared not think about what might have happened had the Aurors not discovered it. "I have asked these three students to accompany me here," Archibald explained as he turned, sweeping a hand towards the group of boys. "Mr. Diggory, you said that a second year student gave you the package?"

"Yes," Cedric nodded. "That one." Diggory pointed to the middle boy in the three, noticing for the first time that they all had similar features of mousy, dishwater blond hair and brown eyes. Each was average in build and still in their pajamas.

"You two may leave," Boulstridge allowed as he gestured Cedric's pick to come closer. "Andrew, did you give a box to Cedric earlier yesterday evening?"

"Yeah, but I didn't have anything to do with it. I was just--"

"We know, Andrew," interrupted the Headmaster, trying to calm the nervous second year student. "The man who originally asked you to deliver the parcel to Miss Granger... what did he look like?"

"I couldn't see his face," Andrew admitted in shame. "He gave me ten galleons to drop the box off on my way back to the dorm. I needed the money and figured I was heading that way anyways, so I did it and didn't ask questions." Silence blanketed the room, and Andrew felt as though he were going to asphyxiate under the pressure of it. He could feel the eyes of everyone in the room on him, and it made him very, very jittery.

"You're certain you saw nothing?" Archibald demanded, disappointed by the dead end they had come to. "Are there any distinct things about him that you did notice?"

"Only that he was taller than I and average in build. I didn't see his face, like I said... Everything was obscured by the hood on his jacket."

"Return to your dorm," the Headmaster sighed as he let his gaze fall to the floor in dissatisfaction.

Andrew turned and all but ran from the room. Boulstridge exhaled exhaustedly and turned to Hermione.

"I am going to have your professors escort you from class to class and have the Minister send some Aurors to scout the town," Archibald informed.

"That's really not necessary," Hermione frowned with a shake of her head. "I am still perfectly capable of making it from one class to another without trouble. As for searching the town, that would be a capital idea, and I would feel much better if you could arrange that."

"You're certain about this?"

"Yes, I am," Hermione nodded. "I do not wish to be more trouble than I have already been."

The Headmaster inclined his head in understanding before turning to leave the room. He paused at the door and looked over at Cedric.

"Keep an eye on her, would you?"

"Yes, Headmaster," Diggory responded with a gesture of discernment, feeling very much as though he were being given his first official Auror assignment.

"Good man," Boulstridge muttered as he left the room and allowed Cedric to close the door behind him.

* * *

By later that day, practically everyone in the school had found out what had happened to Hermione. She was the talk of every clique and apparently the hottest gossip that they had because she had yet to walk into a classroom where she had not heard her name being whispered. The looks students and teachers alike were giving her was starting to irritate her; she felt like she was back in her fourth year when she had been dating Viktor Krum. And what made matters worse was the fact that Cedric had taken to walking her to and from every class, so the looks became double takes of disbelief.

"You really do not need to walk me to my classes," Hermione grumbled for the fourth time that day.

"I promised the Headmaster that I would keep an eye on you," Diggory explained also for the fourth time. "So please... just allow me to stay true to my vow and escort you around, okay?"

She said nothing to this; instead, she shook her head in annoyance and kept walking beside him.

"Oy! Hermione! What did you do?" Ron barked as he forced his way through the students around them.

"What are you yelling about?" she hissed, looking around in exasperation as people began to point and whisper once more.

"A letter just came from Mum," he informed as he yanked a rumpled piece of parchment from inside one of his books. "She said a gift came for you last night, and it upset her greatly."

Hermione took the piece of paper that her redheaded friend was waving about in front of her face. She scanned the page and felt her heart plummet. Mrs. Weasley had not put things as rudely or bluntly as Ron had, but the note did confirm what he said. A bag of rat hearts had been delivered for Hermione with a ghastly and appalling poem attached. Molly went on to express her concern for Hermione and say that she had sent the bag and poem to work with Arthur so that he could take it to the Minister.

"Ron," Hermione breathed as tears welled in her eyes, "I really did not intend--"

"Intend to what, Hermione?" the youngest Weasley boy fired as he threw his books onto the floor. "Intend to have my family approached by your sick admirer?"

"I love your family, and you know that," she continued, forgiving his jabs at her because she knew he was distraught. "I would never want any harm to come to them, you know that, too."

"Yeah, well, it did," Ron snarled. "Why couldn't you have just listened to me in the first place? You've really angered someone by doing what you're doing."

She felt her patience chafing and vexation working its way into her understanding. She was trying to be gentle with him because she knew that his wrathful row with her was only because of his concern for his family. However, now he was pushing things by trying to say that this was connected to her attendance to the Auror Academy.

"You're overstepping your boundaries now, Ronald," she stated as calmly as she could, trying not to let her voice shake. She did not need his gibes while her world was seemingly under attack by some psycho for whatever unknown-to-her reason.

"Are you seriously going to try and pass this off as a coincidence?" he snapped. "First you announce that you're going to Auror Academy and your house is broken into the next day. Then you go to school and start receiving unmarked, disgusting presents from some strange and anonymous sender. Are you thick or just asking for something worse to happen?"

"That's enough," Cedric cut in as he placed a hand on Ron's chest. He pushed the redhead back and away from Hermione so that he was no longer bearing down on her. "C'mon," Diggory whispered as he wrapped an arm around her shoulder and guided her through their gawking peers.

"Better watch out, Cedric," Ron yelled to their retreating backs, "you and your family will start getting threats, too!"

Diggory steered Hermione across the campus and into their dormitory as the bells for class sounded. She sniffled and remained silent the whole way, her heart doubtlessly breaking. A person she had just considered a best friend had blown up on her in front of a quarter of the school, outing her terrifying secrets in the process. It was one thing to be angry about his family being harmed, but it was entirely another to go after the wrong person about it. Ron should have been supportive of Hermione, and rather than take out his frustrations on her, he should have been devoting himself to picking out clues that might help catch whoever was doing this.

"I'm going to shower," Hermione muttered dejectedly. "I need some time alone to wash away some stress."

"Wait, I'll walk you there," Cedric offered as he dropped his book satchel on his bed and began digging for his homework.

"It's fine. What could happen? I'm only going right down the hall," she assured him on a sniffle. "I'll be back in about an hour."

"If you're not back by then, I'm coming to check on you."

"Fair enough," she sighed as she opened the door to their dorm. As she made her way down the corridor, she felt tears stinging her eyes and blurring her vision. She just could not bare the idea of Ron hating her, even if he was an undesirable git at times. He was still one of her best friends and just because he was a best friend did not mean that they were immune to fighting. Nonetheless, this fight had been worse than any before and had truly cut her to the quick.

Depositing her toiletries on the counter, she began stripping down. She turned on the shower taps, watching steam immediately billow out from the hot spray of the shower head. Hopefully that steam and heat would ease away some of the tension and worry she was feeling between her shoulders and in the pit of her stomach.

* * *

Avery chuckled to himself. He had seen the blood-traitor screaming at the Mudblood outside of one of the academy buildings. But even more interesting was the fact that he had saw Amos Diggory's son, Cedric, leading Hermione Granger back to the dorms by themselves. It pleased him to no end that they were more than likely there alone, which meant that they were easy access for him.

He cast a Disillusionment Charm over himself and swiftly ran across the grounds to the boys dormitory building. He slipped inside and began his search for Hermione. He would continue his torment of her until she was pushed to the brink of insanity.

* * *

Hermione felt the water's heat beginning to dissipate. She sighed heavily and lifted her forehead from the shower wall, sad that she could not spend eternity under the hot, massaging jets. She turned the taps to the off position and opened the stall door, groping for her towel, which hung on a hook on the outside of the door. She patted the water droplets from her body and then wrapped the towel around herself, stepping out into the main part of the bathroom.

Her feet made a loud, wet slapping noise as she walked to the long line of sinks hanging from the wall. Hermione pulled on her underwear and looked up to wipe away the condensation on the mirror, but her heart stopped as she glanced at the reflective surface. Words were written into the fog, words that chilled her and made her feel as though someone was watching her.

She whipped around, almost slipping on the damp floor. She felt panic grip her, and she clawed at the counter for her wand. Once it was in her grip, she aimed it around the steam-shrouded restroom. Her heart was thudding loudly as her eyes darted about, trying to discern the slightest of movement. She practically jumped out of her skin when a knock sounded at the door.

"Hermione?"

It was Cedric, and he sounded rather concerned. He rapped on the door again with more urgency and called to her once more while she quickly wrapped herself in a towel. She was about to answer his beckoning when one of the stall doors squeaked across the way. Her attention flitted back to the source of the sound, and she saw that one of the doors was slowly creeping open.

"It's been an hour, and I said I would come looking if you weren't back by then... Hermione?" Cedric said again. He opened the door this time and peered inside to see her with her back to the sinks. She had her wand pointed at the lavatory stalls, alertness stiffening her stance. His eyes traveled from her to the toilets and back again before spotting the writing on the mirror.

_I will deliver you unto the jaws of Death,_

_And He shall taste of your unworthy flesh._

"Is he still here?" Cedric hissed, glaring around as he pulled out his wand and held it defensively.

"I don't think so," she whispered, voice shaking slightly. "I think we should go to the Headm--" Before she could finish her statement, Diggory began blasting the stall doors open. It was a simple first year, door-opening spell, but he did it with such force and vigor that the doors swung wildly on the hinges and banged against the cubicle walls.

As each stall opened, they revealed nothing but the toilets and paper dispensers. And each time, Hermione's heart sank lower and lower. Someone had slipped into the bathroom as she shower, left a disturbing message, and then departed seemingly unnoticed.

"Let's go to the Headmaster," Cedric announced quietly as he looked at her glum expression. "I'll wait outside for you... I think your safe now, but we won't take any chance."

She nodded her understanding and turned back to the sink, shakily placing her wand back on the counter as she laggardly grabbed her clothes and hugged them to her chest. He left without another word, only a glance over his shoulder as he closed the door and stood guard outside of it.

Cedric was astonished by the fact that someone had merely entered the dormitory, threatened her, and left. How could that have happened? Were there no charms or jinxes in place against such a thing? Then again, when had a student ever been vulnerable like this before?

Hermione stood staring at the mirror. She wanted to wipe her hands over it, rub it away to show this person—whoever they were—that she could not be so easily stirred. Although, it had chilled her a bit. She had been defenseless in that shower. Wandless and utterly without refutation. She closed her eyes against the thought of what this madman could have done to her and tossed her towel down onto the sink. She padded out, her pruned toes feeling awfully cold as she crossed the tile floor to the door. Her hair was dripping down her back and soaking her shirt, but she did not care. She felt numb with the idea that she had been so unawares and so assailable.

"Are you all right?" Diggory inquired, trying to see her bowed face.

She felt stupid at the thought of saying that she was. How was she all right? She was being taunted and menaced by some psychotic, deranged wizard, who held some sort of grudge against her, whatever that grudge be. The state of "all right" was the farthest from her current mood that it could possibly be.

Her silence and detachment had him wanting to enfold her in his arms. Cedric felt the deep down urge to wrap himself around her, to pull her so close that it became a difficulty to tell where she ended and he began. And before he knew it, he was reaching out. His hand cupped her shoulder, but he stopped himself at that. This odd want he was wrestling with was absurd. It had to be the product of his responsibility to keep her safe. It must coincide with the promise he made to Archibald... Right?

He stared at her a moment more, studying her downcast features. She was so delicate looking in that moment. It was almost as though she were a ballerina made of glass, and he needed to be the partner that would keep her from stumbling in this chaotic dance and breaking. He needed to ensure that she remained unbreakable. But just where should he draw the line? Where did his duties as a partner end? Was he merely a friend and roommate, or did he feel more for this fragile girl in front of him?

Cedric did not have time to ponder these things now. He shook away the distractions and urged his roommate to turn and head off towards Boulstridge's office. They needed to get this incident taken care of.

* * *

"I still don't think you should be going," Chau harrumphed as he sat on Hermione's bed and put the finishing touches on her make-up.

"What am I supposed to do, Chau? Just sit here and wait for the man to send me more morose little notes?" Hermione sighed as she grabbed a handheld mirror and tissue. She blotted away some of the shimmery lip gloss again; Chau had applied it six times now. "I feel ridiculous," she grumped.

"You look adorable. Now stop trying to change the subject," he stated determinedly. "All I'm saying is that you should not be going to a place where there are so many people. It could be dangerous because you don't know what he looks like or if he could be there."

"It's not as though he could snatch me out of a roomful of dozens," she pointed out as she crawled off the bed and went to a mirror hanging on the wall. She knew what she had just said was untrue, but she needed to remain uncaring on the matter if she was to make her friend believe it. She grabbed more tissues and began rubbing furiously at the blush he had colored her cheeks with so that he would be distracted.

"Stop that!" he grouched, grabbing powder and coming to correct what she was fouling. "Leave it alone." He patted her face down with the pouf, leaving her in a cloud of perfumed dust. She coughed and shook her head, trying to deter him from furthering her torture. "I think that should do," he smiled, adjusting her wings. "You're gorgeous!"

She surveyed herself, stepping back so that more of her figure came into view of the mirror. She was dressed from head to toe in varying shades of green. Chau had piled her hair onto her head and shoved fake flowers, waxy leaves, and plastic berries into the mass of loose, wavy curls. He had forced her to put on emerald and white striped hose and don a pair of iridescent wings.

"I feel all... _exposed_!" She frowned, pulling at the bottom of the ragged, moss-green skirt he had made out of an old T-shirt. She wrapped her arms around her midsection and grimaced even more.

"You look smashing!" he chuckled, swatting at her arms.

"Can't I at least have a shirt that covers my stomach?"

"No," he denied, "we don't have time. Now get your shoes and let's go."

Hermione gave one last disappointed look to the mirror and slipped on her leaf and berry-covered ballet flats, feeling even more derisory once they were on. She grabbed her coin purse and tucked her wand in the skirt pocket Chau had allowed her. She followed him out into the corridor, wishing she had not argued with him when he suggested she stay in rather than go out.


	18. Halloween Horrors

**A/N:**This chapter is a few days late, but nonetheless, here it is. First, though, comes the thanks, just like always. Thank you to: _Dramione-Fan 17, Tate Dean, ForeverBlue90, pottersgirl91 _(especially to you, my dear friend)_, Rin1507, Elliesmeow, justareader7883, Rachelli, CT1994, _and _NateandJenny._

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Chapter 18 – Halloween Horrors**

"Hermione!" Harry half laughed in shock. "What a costume!"

"Woodland fairy," Hermione mumbled as her cheeks flushed. "Chau made it for me." She wrapped her arms around her midsection more out of discomfort than cold. She wished that she had brought a jacket, but her wings made wearing one pretty much impossible.

"Where is Chau Chang?" Harry inquired, looking around. He would be very displeased if she admitted to coming alone.

"He had to go say hello to some friends," she informed, blushing harder as a group of boys winked and whistled when they walked by. "Where's Ron?"

"He said he would be down later. He's writing a letter to his family." Harry felt awkward as Hermione frowned at him, the distress and worry evident on her lovely features. "I think he's hesitating to come because I had a go at him earlier for pouncing on you like that between classes."

"You know about that?" Embarrassment filtered into the mix of emotions running amuck in her system, and she wished that she could become numb to all of them.

"It's safe to say that the whole school knows about nearly everything," he confessed with a half grin. He shrugged, trying to act as though this was nothing. "Sometimes I think a school of would-be adults is worse than a castle full of teenagers when it comes to gossip," he added in jest.

"Yeah," she huffed, trying to make the sound appear amused, but not succeeding in the least.

"How about a drink?"

"I'm not much for alcohol, you know that," she declined while sincerely thinking that drunk may not be a bad state because inebriated was as close to numb and uncaring as she could probably get at the moment.

"Non-alcoholic swamp juice, then?" Harry suggested.

"All right," she sighed, looking around to see if she could spot Chau. She had only just got to the pub and was already hoping he would be ready to leave.

"I'll be right back," her bespectacled companion promised as he slipped off between the closely packed party-goers. Harry disappeared in seconds and left her alone, waiting for him to return.

Hermione felt apprehensive and gawky as she stood amidst the laughing, costumed people, who seemed to be enjoying themselves much more than she was. Their chatter reached her ears in a jumble of mashed up words and roaring chuckles that made her head spin and caused her to wonder how they endured it in a drunken stupor. The very thought of it had her stomach and brain spinning, so she began searching for Chau once more. She needed to step outside for just a moment so that she could clear her head and take in some crisp air.

It was not as though she had not been to a party before, but she normally did not attend bar parties. They were of a completely different atmosphere. People were louder, more obnoxious, at least in Hermione's opinion. Things were more invasive and—if it were possible—too friendly, or simply ill-mannered under the guise of intoxicated friendliness.

She was still searching the crowd when something she felt was very wrong caught her eye. Cedric was standing across the bar room, his fingers entwined with Bethany's as they stood talking to Cedric's blond friend and a few other students from the academy. Heat flared in Hermione's chest, and it was such a foreign feeling. But not foreign in a way that she had never felt it before, just strange when she considered who the feeling was for. She was suffering jealousy; jade green and in all its ugly, horrid, anger-inducing glory.

_No_, she thought, _it's not jealousy. It's... just... irritated astonishment. That's it._ She tried to convince herself of this as she looked away from the scene. How could people be so awful and conniving? Especially people who claimed to care for Diggory. How could Cedric's blond companion just stand there without any sign of guilt? And despite Bethany's awful disposition, how could she lie to someone she claimed to care so greatly for?

"I take it that you're just as sickened by that sight as I am?" Chau voiced as he sauntered over to where Hermione stood looking internally conflicted. "I have a right mind to go over there and slap him." When Hermione appeared confused, Chau sniffed, "He should know better than to fall back into the clutches of such a vulturous, spiteful wretch."

"It's up to him," Hermione shrugged, trying to come across as though she were unaffected by the sight.

"You're right," Chau agreed, though his tone said that he thought something more of the statement, and he proved just that by adding, "but he should not let her manipulate him like he does."

"Here's your drink," Harry announced as he handed over a martini glass containing a lemony-colored liquid. Green goo covered the edges of the glass, and Hermione looked afraid to take so much as a sniff, let alone a sip.

"What's in this?" she quizzed as she peered at the opaque, yellow substance.

"I don't know, but it's on the non-alcoholic table along with some ginger ale, some other punch, water, and cider."

"Mmm... cider," Chau thought aloud. "Excuse me, won't you? I hear the drink table calling me."

Hermione chuckled and watched the handsome Asian glide gracefully through the assemblage.

"So, I thought other people from school were supposed to be here?"

"There are," Harry said, nodding to her right. "Neville's over there with some other students from our year. There's Andrew Waverly, a boy from our year, too." Hermione recognized the second year male as the youth who gave Cedric the package containing the dead cat. She did not hold a grudge against him; he had not known, just as he had said, that the parcel was meant to do her harm. However, this did not stop her from feeling awkward. "Way over that way is Cedric and his friends."

Hermione glanced once more to where her roommate stood calmly amongst the group of pretenders. He did not belong there, and she had the gut-wrenching urge to walk over and steal him away from them. She felt that he should be by her side. In fact, she was entangled in the impression of sudden loneliness; he was always by her side lately and a chill crept up her right half at the thought of him not being there. Her eyes continued to pierce in his direction, her emotions and mind at war over doing what she felt was right and what was truly sensible. That was when he caught her staring.

Blush splashed over her face again, coloring her cheeks the deepest shade of fevered cherry she had been all night. Diggory waved and smiled, drawing the attention of those around him over to Hermione. Bethany Spencer set her jaw on edge, narrowing her eyes on Hermione as the rest looked on in disinterest. All except Cedric's blond pal.

The charismatic young male excused himself from the group and wedged his way through odd and beautiful garbed people. A knavish smirk swooped across his features as he drew closer. His eyes trailed up and down Hermione's figure in a devious fashion, ill-intent written all over his forehead.

"Good evening, my winged little beauty," he greeted, trying to charm her. "Might I interest you in a dance?"

Hermione peeked briefly over his shoulder to where students' bodies pressed close, gliding and rubbing against each other to the sway of the music's enchantment. She had no desire to grind so offensively with this womanizer, especially in public.

"No, thank you," she declined, attempting to spot Chau Chang once more. The need to get outside was still smothering her as a sweat broke out on her body. The atmosphere was becoming stuffy and doubly annoying.

"I don't believe that you and I have ever been properly introduced," Diggory's so-called chum continued, refusing to be ignored. "I'm Jared Venton, cousin to the famous Quidditch player Louis Lothridge."

"Never heard of him," Hermione dismissed shortly.

"Maybe I could take you to meet him sometime. He has a villa in the French countryside," Jared informed, trying to impress her in a more-than-obvious fashion.

"Fascinating."

"In fact, that's where I learned this amazing French art... I could show you sometime," he stated with a wink as he stepped closer.

Hermione's irritation peaked and got the best of her, finally drawing her attention fully back to him and away from searching for Chau.

"If that French art is anything like what you were demonstrating on Bethany Spencer's tonsils the other day, I would rather decline the offer without a single regret."

Not put off, he chuckled and looked her up and down once more. He was about to say something when a boy tapped her on the shoulder. She spun around, expecting to see Harry or Chau, but instead was faced with someone she did not know.

"Are you Hermione Granger?" the towering male asked, his fake vampire teeth looking awkward in his mouth.

"Yes... why?" she asked cautiously.

"I was just wondering if I could take you up on the offer you left on the bathroom mirror?" he explained, trying to smile, but his teeth made this seem ungainly.

"Offer I left on the bathroom mirror?" Hermione repeated, sounding perplexed. "I have no idea what you're referring to." She turned away, preparing to sidle through the crowd around her for the door when she bumped into another vampiric-looking male, only this one she was glad to see.

"I think you had better come with me," he half-yelled in her ear, trying to be heard over top of the people around while looking around consciously.

"What's the matter?"

"I went to the bathroom and your dormitory number is written on the mirror in lipstick with a rather... disgusting note about looking for a good time," Chang confessed, looking somewhat embarrassed. "I tried to wash it away, but it keeps rewriting itself onto the mirror."

She did not even need to see the offending message to know who wrote it. In fact, she had no doubts whatsoever as to who the culprit was. And she fully intended on confronting them.

Hermione sashayed off into the crowd, parting dancing couples and conversing party-goers as Chau tried to stay close behind. She stopped in front of Diggory, Bethany, and some others, a displeased expression boiling on her face. Her wings were askew and her hair falling into her eyes, adding to the ragged wrath.

"Go take your little joke off the men's bathroom mirror," Hermione commanded Cedric's date.

"I'm sorry?" she said with a giggle, giving Hermione a coy glance.

"The note you left in the bathroom with my name and dormitory number," the younger girl growled in reminder. "Go wash it away."

"I'm certain I have no idea what you're talk--"

"To hell you don't!" Hermione bellowed angrily. "Go remove it from the mirror, or else, God help me, I _will_ make you!"

"What's she talking about?" Cedric inquired serenely. His tone was deadly even, meaning he had a gut feeling that he already knew something was wrong.

"I really don't know, darling," she laughed while half-turning away from Diggory's roommate.

"You do, too!" Hermione barked, stepping forward and shoving the older girl backward. "You wrote it, so go fix it! And how can you stand there and call him 'darling'? You make me sick!" Here Hermione shoved Spencer again. "You cry over him and tell him you love him and then go snog his friend and now you're back to clinging to him? You're ludicrous." Hermione was about to whip out her wand when Bethany pulled back her hand and swung it forward, intent on slapping Hermione. The blow never connected, though, as Cedric grabbed her wrist and glared dangerously at his date.

He did not say anything as he began pulling her along, dragging her roughly through the crowd towards the lavatory with Hermione and Chau in tow. The first pair disappeared inside the bathroom, but as they door slowly closed, Hermione saw red cursive marring the silver, reflective surface and heat flared through her body. Sweat beaded once more on her skin and the ire she felt became a raging wave of need to either punch Bethany or take a long, solo walk.

When her roommate returned, Hermione saw that he was looking more than dissatisfied, and Bethany had tears welling in her eyes. With a huff and some satisfaction falling into place, the younger girl turned and began pushing for the door without so much as a word to anyone.

"Hermione!" Cedric called after her a second later. "Wait!"

She pressed on, however, never looking back as a blast of cold air collided with her exposed skin. Stepping out onto the sidewalk, she was disappointed to find that things were just as crowded. She put her head down and crossed her arms over her abdomen, shouldering a path through the mass of bodies. She was nearing the end when someone grabbed her wing. She jerked herself forward, tearing the airy, glittered fabric and wire from where it was tied on her back. Her other wing drooped as she stormed along, not even turning back for a second to see who had so rudely ruined her costume.

"Hermione! Hey!" Cedric hollered, trying to catch up to her.

She slipped quickly around a corner, refusing to return to the dormitory because she knew he would just follow her there. If she could just lose him down a side street, she would take some time to cool off and then go back.

Hermione was not quite sure why she felt anger towards him as well, but she did. Maybe it was because he had allowed himself to let Bethany Spencer, the snotty wench, back into his good graces. But why should she care about that? It was not as though she really had any say in what he did, just as she had told Chau Chang. Then again, he knew what Bethany was like and what she had done to Hermione over Cedric, himself, so the fact that he appeared at the party tonight with the older witch was like saying he did not care. Or was she just letting her choler get the best of her?

A frustrated sigh battered past her lips as she stopped and brushed her hair from her face. She picked out some of the flowers and leaves, wincing as they got caught in her brunette strands and pulled painfully. Another huff escaped her lips as she pushed back her hair again and looked around.

There was no one on this street. In fact, all the lights in the windows were either dimmed or out, suggesting that the occupants were either asleep or not home. Jack-o-lanterns grimaced at her with dying candles flickering in their withering mouths, and ghosts made from tattered sheets billowed in the wind. The crisp, chilly air bit at her uncovered skin, and she shivered. That was when she heard it. The soft fall of approaching footsteps and the evenly spaced tinking sound of something being dragged down a wrought iron fence.

She stood deathly still, her eyes scanning her surroundings as she battled to keep her heart rate under control. She would not allow panic to set in and get the best of her. A shuddering tingle latched onto her spine and made her dread turning around to see what was behind her.

The tinking stopped and something filled the silence.

"Hermione."

Her eyes went wide at the whisper of her name. The voice was not one she recognized. Frissons brought panic past her brick wall of determination and her heart hammered in echoing of the shivers which raced along her limbs. Fright rocked her to the core as she tried to hear something more. There were no more footsteps. No more sounds of something clanking on the wrought iron. Only her terrorized breathing and the cold whistle of the wind.

Just then, a trash can toppled and something glass shattered against pavement. She bolted, running for covered as she clutched at her hip pocket for her wand. When the wooden handle was crunched in her grip, she quickened her pace, dodging through yards and driveways and shrubbery in what she guessed was the direction of the academy. She broke out into an alleyway between two rows of houses and spotted some shops and street lights at the far end, so she streaked off towards them. Her ballet flats made a loud slapping noise against the concrete that echoed off of garage and house walls.

Hermione was almost to the end of the alley when another metal trash can tumble over, drawing a shriek from her lips. She stumbled and almost fell, scraping her hands on the pavement as she caught herself. A dog barked to her right, so she darted left and ran into someone.

"No," she gasped, trying to push away from them as they gripped her upper arms.

"Hermione," Cedric spoke strongly, attempting to break through her fear.

His tone was successful in permeating her fright, and she stopped battling him. Her eyes turned up to him, wide and full of dreadful apprehension. Gooseflesh rippled along her uncovered body, so he slipped off his knee-length pirate's jacket and draped it over her shoulder after removing the remaining half of her wings. He picked up his bandana, hat, and wig and placed an arm around her shoulder, guiding her along to the academy dorms.

"I'm sorry," he muttered, bowing his head and feigning involvement in his costume's accessories. When she said nothing, he cleared his throat and looked up at the clear, carbon black sky. "I should thank you, too. You kept me from making a big mistake by giving her another chance."

Hermione bowed her head, pulling his jacket closed over herself as she let him lead her along. She had not intended on outing Bethany and Jared like that, although she had not actually accused any specific friend of Cedric's.

"You were right," he continued with a shake of his head. "She said she loved me, but she was willing to lie to me. She said she cried over me every night and felt like her world was falling apart because the most important thing was missing... Me... And to think, one of my friends is lying, too. Although there's probably going to be no surprise as to who that is."

Hermione listened to the bitterness weave itself into his voice. And suddenly she felt sorry, so very sorry. She had unintentionally brought him pain. But was it better that she had done what she did rather than allow him to go on with a charade like giving Bethany another chance based on pretenses?

"I'm glad someone was brave enough to let me know the truth," Diggory thanked, giving her shoulder a squeeze. "You're what true friends are made of, you know that?"

She tilted her head some and peered at him from the corner of her eye. He did not look at her, instead he stared straight ahead as he guided them through the academy gates and across the dewy lawns and past the dormant fountain to the dorms. He lead her up and into their room, flicking on the light and tossing his things on his bed, only to hear her cry.

"Oh God," she whimpered, dropping his coat on the floor and gazing undesirably at her bed.

He looked to her pillow, upon which rested a Death Eater's mask and the other half of her wing.

Tears flowed like a raging river after a flood as she walked over and picked up her wing. She gripped the wire and hose annex in her hands, realizing that whoever brought this here had been close enough to snatch her right on the street in town. They had been right among the crowd, just as Chau had predicted. And the idea that he was right sickened her. Not because he had been correct, but because her deadly gift-sender had been there while she was so preoccupied with ridiculous feelings.

"Thank Miss Spencer for granting me knowledge of your room number," Cedric said aloud as he read a note that had been placed next to the Death Eater's mask. "I'm going to curse her into next year for this," he vowed in rage as he dropped the letter back onto the bed and pulled the wing from Hermione's frozen fingers. "We need to get to the Headmaster."

She nodded her agreement and let him coax her along once more. Her brain began spinning with wild thought. Who was this person? Obviously a Death Eater or someone affiliated with them. What was their quarrel with her? Was it simply that she was Muggle-born? Or was it something more? What would they do next? They had already proved just how close they could get to her. And more importantly to her at the moment, what was Archibald Boulstridge going to do about this predicament?

"Miss Granger? Mr. Diggory?" the Headmaster greeted in bewildered surprise as he opened his office door and was confronted by the sight of them. "What brings you here? Why are you not in town with the rest of the students, celebrating?"

"Her stalker has been in our room," Cedric announced, his tone and expression stern and displeased, just as they had been in the bar with Bethany.

"What? Another intrusion?" Boulstridge gaped. "Bring her in. Quickly." He stepped aside and allowed Cedric to usher Hermione into his office as he scanned the corridor like he expected someone dangerous to appear. "Keep her here while I go round up some of the professors and send someone to alert the Minister."

Cedric nodded at his orders and coerced his roommate into a chair. He started a fire in the hearth and pulled up a seat beside her, noticing her blood-dried hands.

"What happened?" he asked, unfolding her lax fingers and examining her palm.

"I fell," she mumbled in response, distracted as she stared at the crackling fire. Cedric had a feeling that it was not the dance of the flames that commanded her attention so, though.

"Let me fix them," he offered, pulling her hand into his lap and reaching across her for some tissues. He set to work mending her hands, his methods gentle and his caress on her hands more soothing than he knew as she wondered what the Minister would say and if he would show up at the academy.


	19. Roommate Rumors

**A/N: **I must first apologize for the lateness of this chapter. I'm sorry that it was not posted on Monday, as originally planned. I've been in somewhat of a funk lately because I am trying to keep my brain from running the loop and my life from falling to pieces. As it is, I lost my cat, Pooter, on Friday and had a major argument with my best friend, Kara, which has lead to me having to move my stuff out of our house this Saturday coming. I suppose everything happens for a reason, though, so I'm going to try and make the best of this. But enough about all of that... on to the gratitude giving.

Thank you to: _CT1994, pottersgirl91, justareader7883, Tate Dean, Elliesmeow, Rachelli, lucyferr, Rin1507, ForeverBlue90, Dramione Fan-17, _and _Idle Writer of Crack._ You all are too kind for sticking with this story!

* * *

**Chapter 19 – Roommate Rumors**

"You can't pay any attention to them," Chau advised as he hung his school bag on the back of his dormitory door.

His new roommate threw her satchel onto her bed and snarled in frustration. She paced to the window and glared down at the students running for dinner and their dorms. Classes had ended for the day, mimicking the way that November had came and went for her: Uneventfully and filled with vexation.

The Ministry was no closer to finding the madman who had broken into her previous dorm room and who was responsible for her room switch. In fact, that switch had been even more irritating than the attacks themselves because students began chattering about how the move of Hermione had been due to her relationship with Cedric Diggory, her old roommate. She knew that the rumors and whispers were ridiculous and that she should not let them bother her, but even Harry and Ron had asked her about her ties to Diggory. People were saying that Hermione and Cedric were no longer able to be trusted alone in a room together, so the Headmaster moved her in with Chau Chang because that was a more reliable arrangement.

"Do you want me to help you with your Disguise homework?" her new roommate offered in an attempt to distract her. "You seemed a little less than up to par today." As a matter of fact, she had been the worst in class during that particular exercise.

They had been outside in the woods behind school, trying to use the foliage as cover. All they had needed to do was Disillusion themselves against a tree and wait for their quarry to pass, but she had struggled with this. She had been unable to get her Disillusionment Charm perfected. Seconds after she had cast the spell, her clothes had reappeared and anything she stood in front of to disguise herself against had wavered and given away her position.

"I just need time to clear my head," Hermione muttered. "I hate being the center of attention like this." She ran a hand through her hair, only to pull painfully at some knots that matted her curly locks. With an angry huff, she grabbed a rubber band off her desk and pulled her hair up into a ponytail. "I'm going for a walk."

"Do you want me to come with you? I can be totally quiet. I could listen to you, if you want," Chang supplied.

"I'll be fine," Hermione promised, noticing that his volunteering was more out of concern for her safety than the need to give her an ear to vent to. "Besides, Alec will be coming over to study before the midterm examinations."

Chau nodded and watched her pull on her jacket and scarf. She wrapped it loosely around her neck and buttoned her coat before removing her wand from her bag and depositing it in her coat pocket.

"If I'm not back by bedtime," she announced while opening the door, "then you can worry."

He did not like the way she said this; it was no joking matter. Despite the fact that there had been no further efforts made from her stalker to contact her, that did not mean that they should be lax on protection.

"I'll have a full scale Ministry search underway if you are not back by the time I am turning down my blankets," he vowed loudly as she shut the door behind her.

* * *

Cedric flipped the page to his Potions class book and scooped up another spoonful of the creamy soup they had been serving for dinner. The buzz of talk around the dinner hall kept him from truly getting involved in what he was reading. His brain was only retaining each word for a few seconds before forgetting that he had read them. His attention was distracted from the book by a loud laugh across the hall. It echoed in his ears as his eyes scanned the tables for the source; it had been a familiar sound. Then he spotted her. Bethany Spencer, Cedric's ex-girlfriend, was sitting at a table near the windows with Jared Venton, Cedric supposed best friend.

The two smiled and laughed amongst a group of her friends while Jared draped an arm over her shoulder. The sight had Diggory feeling annoyed. Not because he was jealous, no. But because he felt betrayed by the two. The all-too-acquainted feeling of aggravation weaseled its way into his thoughts, his chest rising and falling with uneven, bothered breathing. Cedric tried to tear his eyes away from the spectacle, but could not. However, his saving grace came in the form of a rather friendly sight.

Out of the windows behind the couple that caused him such ire was his old roommate. She was exiting the boys' dormitory, her hands shoved in her pockets and her ponytail whipping wildly in the wind of the last day of November.

Cedric smiled at the sight, jumping up out of his chair as he quickly shut his book. He tucked it under his arm, gathered up his tray, and headed for the door. He dumped his half-eaten food into the trash can, dropped the tray on a cart by the door, and stepped out into the blustery chill.

"Hey!" he called, jogging to catch up with her as her head snapped up and began looking around. She turned just in time to see him stop right behind her. "Long time no see, eh?"

She smiled warmly and nodded.

They had not seen each other much since she had been moved into a room with Chau Chang for her protection. The stalker no longer knew which room she resided in, which made them both happy, but deep down they both resented it.

He missed her deeply. So much so, in fact, that it made him feel awkward. He disliked his new roommate because he constantly had friends over and was continually asking Cedric to help him with his homework, but it was not just help the boy sought. He wanted Diggory to pretty much write his reports. And if that was not enough, the younger student was always inquiring about Diggory's father and if Cedric could introduce him to Amos so he could get in good with the Aurors. Hermione had never done any of that.

At the same time, Hermione had missed his steadfast shadowing of her every movement. She had grown accustomed to having him around because he had secretly been such a comfort. But when she had changed rooms, their routines had become inconvenient. He had tried to walk her to her dorm and catch her at the end of every class so he could walk her to the next, but it had made him late for his own classes. Finally, she had felt obligated to tell him that Chau could take his place and that she no longer wanted to be troublesome to him. And in the scheme of things, it had been one of the hardest things she had ever had to do, to turn him away like that.

"Where's Chau?" Diggory asked, as though he could read what she was thinking at that very moment.

"I told him I needed some time to myself," she explained.

"That's not an option while you've got some brainsick stalker tracking you."

"He's not tracking me."

"Do you know that for sure?" he quizzed, smirking directly after the question because he already knew her answer.

"No," she mumbled, making his grin even appear even more triumphant.

"Then I'll just have to accompany you around until you return to Chau's watchful presence," Cedric shrugged, amusement lighting his voice.

Secretly, she was glad to hear this. He was the only person she wanted to be around at the moment. He was someone with who she felt comfortable confiding in since he had been through almost all of the stalker's attacks with her. If she had been a child, he would have been her favorite teddy bear.

"I guess you leave me no choice but to accept, then," she sighed in mock reluctant surrender.

"That's right," he chuckled. "Now lead the way." She turned at his command, and he fell into step beside her. Their elbows brushed occasionally, but neither minded; it was a comfortable reminder of the friend they had meandering alongside of them. Not that either needed reminding of the other's presence.

"So, how's the new roommate?" she questioned lightly.

"I have to speak to Chau and ask how he put up with the idiot," Cedric muttered, watching her steps match his measured ones.

"That bad?" she laughed.

"He's annoying. He's always got friends over, and they have pillow fights and stuff like a bunch of little girls! He won't leave me alone about getting to meet my father so he can get to know some of the current Aurors. And he is always nagging me about giving him _help_ with his homework," Cedric grouched.

"Sounds like you're getting a taste of your own potion," Hermione taunted in a know-it-all fashion.

Diggory glared at her playfully from the corner of his eye as they walked along the edge of the barren school flower gardens. He gave her elbow a light nudge with his own, causing her to misstep. She quickly regained her stride, though, and fell back into step with him. Silence passed between the two of them, but it was a comfortable quietness.

They trudged along the empty sidewalks and deadening grounds in each other's company, pleased to just be in one another's presence, to feel that consolation. The wind howled as the sun set quickly. A chill filled the air, and snow began drifting in the pale, gray twilight. Winter was truly coming, and it seemed that it was going to be a bitter cold one.

"Are you excited for Christmas break?" he asked, interrupting the muteness.

"Yeah," she replied fondly. She had not seen her parents in almost half a year. She had, of course, written them, but that in no way compared to seeing them again. And she would do just that in exactly two weeks. "What about you?"

"Sort of," Cedric shrugged. "I miss my family, but I would be happy for a quiet Christmas break this year."

"Take it that Christmas is a big affair at your house?"

"Big is an understatement. My mother never leaves the kitchen until Christmas Eve because she's so busy baking. My father and I don't dare step foot in her domain because she'll put us to work."

Hermione chuckled and imagined Cedric covered in flour and trying to get a spoon to magically mix batter as he messily measured out ingredients.

"Sounds disastrous."

"It is... And my dad... He's determined to find the perfect tree, which has to be decorated perfectly, too. Not to mention he has to have each present wrapped with more precision and flourish than necessary... And don't get me started on the lights on the house... The extended family comes to visit, too. My aunt and uncle and two cousins; my grandparents; my mother's cousin and her two twins. It's a packed house even a week after Christmas is over!"

"Sounds a lot like Christmas at the Weasley house... Christmas at my house is kind of a quiet business. Christmas Eve my dad's sister comes over with her husband and son, who usually brings a friend. My mum's brother visits, too, with his girlfriend. We have dinner, listen to the Christmas carolers that come by, open some presents, watch a movie, and that's about it. Christmas day we visit my grandparents houses... All in all, it's controlled and easy-going enough," she professed.

"It does sound pretty relaxed," he agreed, sounding somewhat wishful.

"You know," Hermione began, her mouth running ahead of her brain at full steam, "you could come visit if you need a break from the chaos at your house." When she realized what she had said, she began mentally kicking herself. "If you want, that is. You don't have to feel obligated to."

"It would be nice... I could check up on you since your parents don't really know what's been going on," he added, feeling immensely stupid the second after the words had left his lips. He had just made her sound like a plant that he needed to keep an eye on and water regularly. "I mean, I just want to make sure you're safe because I care for you." When her head jerked in his direction, he felt a sweat break on his palms. "As a friend, I mean," he tacked on quickly.

"Yeah," she breathed. "Me, too." If she had not known better, she would say that butterflies were vicious creatures because it felt as though they were gnawing at the inside of her stomach at that very moment.

The soundlessness that enveloped them then was not like the one that had fallen on them earlier. It was not tranquil or appreciative. Instead, it was bunglesome and nerve racking.

"You're welcome to visit my place, too," he murmured, trying to remain cool. He had not felt this embarrassed since he had asked his first girlfriend out during his second year at Hogwarts and got rejected. That had been roughly seven years ago, though, so he should be well over his awkward teenage tendencies. Nonetheless, this moment was proving that those inclinations never went away, but matured with the person and revisited at the most inopportune times.

"I'd enjoy that," Hermione responded. "It would be ideal to get away from my cousin and his friend... They can get rather irritating."

"I won't guarantee that my house will be any less annoying," he joked, "but at least we can be vexed together, eh?"

She laughed and nodded her agreement, turning, and heading back for the dorms. She felt so much better now that she had talked to him. The frustrations of the day left her and were as though they had never existed. He had a way of lifting worry from her shoulders and easing her pains, and she could only think that the warmth she felt rushing through her system was the lightness that he induced and a gratefulness for it. Yet she had felt appreciation before, and it had never felt quite like this.

* * *

"You're back late," Chau griped as he met Hermione in the hallway. He had been on his way to search for her. He had been serious when he said that he would send out a search party for her if she was not back by bedtime, which it was exactly five minutes past.

"I was in the library with Cedric," she explained, beaming at her roommate's switch in expression as she said this.

"And how is our darling Mr. Diggory?" Chang wondered aloud as he let Hermione lead the way back down the hall to their room.

"He's great," Hermione said over her shoulder, a wistfulness drifting in and out of her tones.

"I bet he's even better now that you two got to hang out for awhile, huh?" Chau supplied, a sly expression flowing swiftly over his beautifully angled features.

"Why yes," she began, but then paused. "Wait... what?"

"I knew it!" her roommate exclaimed through a clenched smile as he shut their dorm door behind them. "You like Cedric!"

"Oh, Chau! Not you, too!" Hermione sighed as she dropped down onto her bed.

"I'm not fueling rumors or saying that I agree whole-heartedly with them, but you do like him... Don't you?"

"No, that's absurd!"

"Oh, really?" he teased, his black, almond-shaped eyes positively glittering with mischief as he leaned against the door. "Is that why you woke up and gasped his name the other night?"

"That was a meaningless reaction, almost like second nature. He was my roommate, and therefore, always there when I woke from a nightmare."

"All right," Chau waved, sounding completely unconvinced, but moving on all the same. "Then why are you so happy now? You left the room in a bit of a tizzy earlier today, but now you're practically walking on air!"

"Nonsense!" Hermione denied with a shake of her head. She rose from the bed and removed her coat and scarf, dropping them onto her trunk as she pulled down her covers and grabbed her pajamas from atop her pillow.

"No sense is more like it," he continued. "No sense in you two _not_ dating, that is."

"Chau, stop," she commanded evenly. "We've been through this once before. And if I've told you once, I'll tell you again, things are not like that between Cedric and me."

"I'm so sure," Chang twittered as he tiptoed playfully to his own bed. He gave a dramatic spin and then a bow before saying, "We'll just see what ol' Ceddy has to say about that tom-morro-ow!" He drug out the last word in a sing-song fashion, aimed at taunting her.

She rolled her eyes as he flopped down onto his own bed and reached for the lamp on his bedside table. He flipped the switch, turning off the light, and leaving them in darkness. She changed spryly in the dark before crawling under her own covers, determined not to let what Chau was saying get to her. However, this was a hard battle to fight. A million little questions began battering her brain. _Did_ she like Cedric? Did _he_ like _her_? What would she do if she _did _like him? Did he like her back because he had invited her to his house for Christmas? What would she say to his family? How would he introduce her?

She tossed onto her side and kicked at her covers, already uncomfortable. Hermione huffed and could almost hear Chau smiling smugly as he drifted on to dream, deeply pleased with himself and the train of thought rampaging through her head that he had given steam to.

* * *

Roden stood in the woods behind the Auror Academy. He had not been here in weeks. He had taken time away from his pursuit of Hermione Granger. Some might have called what he did hiding, but he did not see it that way. He was being clever, in his estimation. He had ignited fear in her and stirred up quiet a controversy, which left him little freedom to track her as he had done for months before then. So, instead of make the unwise move of continuing his slow, anonymous torture of her, he had retreated to his home and waited out the month of November.

Now, here he was as suspicions died and the investigation grew cold. He would search the dormitory until he found her new room. It was a risky move, but he needed to find her again so that he could send her the Christmas gifts that he had in mind for her.

* * *

"Cedric!" Chau called, racing down the corridor of the main academy building.

"Chau? Where's Hermione?" Diggory inquired as he came to a stop, students bumping into him as they passed by.

"I gave her the slip just before class ended... said I had to use the little boys' room, but really... I need to talk to you," the half vampire informed.

"That's really not a good thing to do, Chau," Cedric scolded, his eyes darting the crowd for Hermione's curly, brown mane. "There are far too many students moving around between classes for her to be left alone. Someone could easily disguise themselves and move amongst us."

"Ridiculous," Chau waved away. "She'll be fine this once." He shifted his bag on his shoulder and gave Cedric a no-nonsense stare. "Now, I need to ask you a very important question about a certain roommate of mine."

"What about her?"

"What are your feelings for her?" the younger boy quizzed. "Do you have honorable intentions?"

"Have you lost your gobstones?" Diggory choked out in disbelief. "You left Hermione alone to ask me something so ludicrous?"

"It's not _ludicrous_," Chau stated in a matter-of-fact voice. "I'm serious... I can't have you leading her on. She's a very good friend of mine, and I won't have you hurting her."

"If she is such a good friend, then why did you leave her to walk to class alone?" Cedric snapped. "I'm sorry," he added a moment later. "I just don't think that she should be by herself until whoever is after her is apprehended... What class does she have next? I need to check on her."

"So you do care for her?" Chau grinned.

"Of course I do," Cedric huffed irritably. "Why wouldn't I? She's a friend of mine, after all."

"I think you think of her as much more than a friend," Chau confessed, stepping aside as Cedric began pushing against the flow of students so that he could find Hermione.

"I don't have time for this, Chau," the older boy called over his shoulder as students grumbled at the pair. "What class is she going to?"

"She has study period right now," Chang answered.

"Where does she usually take her study periods at?"

"Where else? The library."

With that, Cedric raced off to find Hermione. He needed to see for himself that she had made it securely from class to the library.

* * *

"See, Veritaserum has its usefulness in the Ministry and its investigations, but if someone deceptive got into power, they could use it in a wrongful manner," Hermione explained as she sat in the library with Alec, gripped in a politically correct conversation.

"I see your point, but I think it should be used in extreme cases," Alec shrugged, shoving away the book he had been reading and pulling another towards himself. He scanned the volume, his finger gliding smoothly down the page before pausing three-fourths of the way down. "Found it. It's armadillo bile."

"I don't think Veritaserum should ever be used. It's like using an Unforgiveable Curse, if you ask me. It's an invasion of the person's mind, and that's just wrong no matter what they've done," Hermione stated.

"Again, I see you're point," Alec nodded. "You've got an excellent manner of explaining your beliefs."

"Thank you," she said on a half laugh as she wrote down the answer he had found.

"Of course, it's hard not to agree with such views... especially when they come from such a beautiful, smart, and caring girl."

Hermione blushed and began picking at the corner of her parchment.

"Alec," she mumbled, feeling bashful.

"I'm just saying," he chuckled. "You've got a wonderful heart, and it shows. It's hard not to be attracted to that... and when we have so much in common... well..."

"I think we should concentrate on our homework," Hermione advised, trying to avoid the subject he was attempting to broach.

Meanwhile, Cedric stood across the library, his eyes fixated on the couple. He felt a burning sort of sensation at the back of his neck and deep in his chest. He had the uncontrollable urge to join them, to break up their time together. But why, he could not say, nor did he have time to ponder or act upon this notion. He needed to get back to his class; he was already ten minutes late. He would see Hermione later tonight. For now, she was safe, and that knowledge eased his worry some. Enough to allow him to finish out the day anyways.


	20. Howling Fury

**A/N: **Life has considerably brightened since I last updated. My best friend and I are fine again. I'm still moving out of the house because I feel that it would reduce a lot of stress between us, but that's besides the point. I still miss my kitty, but I've come to the conclusion that I loved her deeply while she was here, adopted her from homelessness and gave her a good life, so she might have been in pain when she went, but she was happy all the same and is much better off now that the pain is over. So, all in all, I'm feeling much better and even more invigorated than before, which is going to be excellent for my writing. And speaking of that, I suppose I should give my thanks to those of you who read and reviewed the last chapter so that you can get on with reading this one...

Thanks to: _ChamberlinofMusic, Elliesmeow, Tate Dean, Rachelli, pottersgirl91, ForeverBlue90, NJ Fan, Rin1507, Idle Writer of Crack, _and _Mary-La. _You all are fantastic!

* * *

**Chapter 20 – Howling Fury**

Cedric leaned against Hermione's dorm door, his arms folded tersely over his chest as he watched students pass by.

"Afternoon, Ced," Chau Chang greeted as he approached.

"Chau, did you leave Hermione alone again?" Diggory frowned as he stood straight and let the half vampire into his room.

"Well hello to you, too," Chau mumbled somewhat irritably. "And no, I did not. She's gone up to Alec's dorm to study for an exam."

"Alec?"

"Yes. He's a friend of ours."

"Would that be the same guy she was in the library with earlier today?"

"They do have study period together, so I assume it would be," the younger boy replied as he sat his book bag on his chair and began riffling through it. He drew out two large volumes and then began digging in his desk drawer for a fresh quill and clean parchment. "Why do you ask?"

"I just wanted to make sure she was well looked after," Cedric shrugged, trying to be nonchalant as he shuffled over to her trunk and sat down atop it. He picked up a stack of letters there and began flicking through them, pretending to be bored as he checked each address.

"If you fancy her, Cedric, say something," Chau apprised. "Stop wasting time with petty little games and excuses that you are only confirming her safety. She is a full-grown witch with more brains than half the girls here at the academy and twice as pretty as any to boot."

"I don't like her like that," Diggory abnegated. "I promised the Headmaster I would take care of her, and I never back out of a promise even if the circumstances change, you know that."

"Hippogriff feathers, Cedric!" the half vampire huffed. "Why would you ask who she was in the library with if you were not jealous in some manner other than someone taking your place on watching her?" Chau began tapping his foot impatiently, his hands gripped firmly at his hips. "Stop playing coy. She does not need you playing tricks with her heart while some weirdo is out there plotting her demise."

"I am not interested in her like that."

"Keep telling yourself that," Chau growled before crouching down and peering under his bed. "I know I just bought new quills and parchment the other day!"

"What makes you think that I'm so infatuated with her, aside from the fact that I'm doing my job to keep her out of harm's way?" Diggory demanded as he came to the last letter in the stack. He gave a carefree glance to the Asian across the room, who was now digging in his trunk as though he would never reach the bottom.

"You are obviously envious of Alec because he's spending time with her lately," the dark-haired male called as he leaned his head down into his luggage. "Found it!" He sat up and grinned jubilantly before casting an eye to his companion to see why he was so silent. "I'm right, aren't I?" When Cedric still did not answer, Chau's brow furrowed. "Cedric? Something wrong?"

Diggory tossed aside Hermione's other letters, holding tight to the bottom one in the pile.

"Who delivered this?"

"I don't know," Chang replied, confusion racing along his tones. "Why?"

"When did it come?" Cedric asked apprehensively.

"Again, I don't know. I never check Hermione's mail. I only occasionally get the _Prophet_ she has delivered... What's going on?"

"This letter has no address, which means it did not arrive by owl post. It had to have been hand delivered."

"So...?" Chau quizzed, not quite catching on. "Maybe it's from one of the professors?" he suggested a second later.

"This is the same ink that was on the previous letters she got from her stalker," Diggory informed gravely, staring at her name on the parchment.

"Coincidence?" Hermione's roommate offered half-heartedly, feeling a nausea wash over him. "I'm sure dozens of people use the same ink."

"I don't think so," Cedric muttered with a deep, staid voice.

"But how...?" Chau inquired, bewilderment enfolding him in its arms.

"I don't know, but we need to get this to the Headmaster," the older boy informed. "And we cannot tell Hermione about it until the Headmaster decides what to do."

"Tell me about what?" her feminine tones questioned from the doorway.

Chau and Cedric gaped in her direction as she stood with Alec, awaiting an answer.

"Well?" she prompted.

"Where did this letter come from?" Cedric addressed sternly.

The severity of his manner alerted her to the fact that something was wrong, terribly wrong.

"It was on the floor beside my bed this morning. I thought that maybe I had knocked it off the desk the night before, so I picked it up and laid it with the others. I didn't have time to read yet."

"You have no idea who delivered this?" the eldest male in the room pressed. He needed as much information from her as he could get so that when he went to Archibald, he could be thorough as necessary.

"Judging by the way you're acting, I don't think that I really need to answer that," she stated evenly. "And I doubt that we need to waste time playing guessing games either... Let me see it."

"We should take this to Headmaster Boulstridge first," Diggory advised, not leaving room for argument.

"He's right, Hermione," Chau spoke up, eyes large and round with worry.

"I will not be made a victim anymore," she declared with a stiffening jaw. "Let me have the letter."

"Now is not the time to be stubborn," Cedric growled, his patience with her growing short. She was not taking this as cautiously as she should. "There's no telling what this envelope contains! You've already received a dead cat, a venomous snake, and other gruesome messages. This could be magically programmed to be just like a Howler, and if you open it, Merlin only knows what kind of poison or harmful potion it will expel!"

"You're being farcical!" Hermione snapped, reaching out for the letter as tears welled in her eyes. "If this maniac wanted to harm me so badly, why would whoever it is not just have killed me while I slept rather than deliver some stupid little note?"

"She has a point," Alec interjected, stepping up to her side and placing a hand on her lower back in comfort. She was shaking and his gesture seemed to steady her some. Cedric, however, was less than pleased with the move. He set his jaw on edge and gave the black-haired, blue-eyed first year friend of Hermione and Chau a seething stare.

"Fine," he barked shortly, his eyes drilling holes in Alec's head.

Cedric pinched the envelope's flap tip between his thumb and forefinger and gave a rough yank. The heavy parchment envelope tore quickly, a small pop filling the air directly after the ripping noise. Flames crackled to life on the envelope, scalding Cedric's hand as a voice none of them had heard before filled the room.

"Feel the heat and fire of my anger! I have found you again and will not stop until you are dead!"

Diggory dropped the flaming parchment and winced as he tried to pat his sleeve out. Alec whipped out his wand and aimed it at the envelope on the floor.

"_Aguamenti!_" he cast, a jet of water springing from his wand tip. The flames only seemed to feed off of the liquid, though, and they began growing larger.

"Stop!" Cedric bellowed, picking up the burning pile and rushing to the window. He opened it one-handed in a burst of adrenaline and threw the envelope out into the chilly, snowy December breeze.

"Cedric! Your shirt!" Chau gasped.

Diggory did not need to be told that his sleeve and shirtfront were being eaten by lively, incinerating embers. He stripped off the garment and threw it out the window as well, cursing at the blisters already forming on his abdomen and left arm. Sweat rolled down his face and chest, and pain scratched and ripped at the tender, reddening skin. The cold air whipping in the window only made the hurt greater.

"Get the Headmaster and the have him send for some medi-wizards!" Hermione cried, rushing to her old roommate's side as he dropped to his knees beside the window. "Chau, I need you help me get him to the end of the corridor and into the restroom. We need to run cold water on these burns."

Hermione's fearful looking Asian roommate nodded stiffly and pulled out his wand. He took a deep breath to steady himself and then levitated the older male into the air. Chau let Hermione pull Cedric in the direction that she needed him to go while he concentrated solely on keeping Diggory from hitting the floor. They moved as swiftly as they could down the hallway, passing students who gasped and gawked in confusion and alarm.

Once inside the lavatory, Hermione had Chau help her get Cedric into a shower stall. She frowned and bit down on her lip as she twisted the tap. Cold water spilled forth, dowsing both her and Cedric. He groaned, jerking from both pain and slight shock. She knelt down and began examining him for severe damage to the skin. She began counting her blessings and his when she found absolutely no blackened skin, but the blisters that were beginning to form looked awful. The area was a harsh crimson and starting to swell, too.

Her heart hammered as she took in the sight of his arm and stomach. Swallowing back the nerves that were starting to choke her, Hermione grabbed Cedric's belt and began undoing the buckle. She needed to loosen his pants so that the swelling area was not further irritated. As she unbuttoned his pants and pulled at the zipper, she heard him give a protest.

"I have to. I'm sorry!" she said as she leaned up towards his head.

Brushing wet, dripping strands of deep, golden hazelnut hair from his forehead, she felt guilt grip her. If she had not insisted on opening the letter, none of this would have happened.

"I'm so sorry," she whispered, tears slipping down over her cheeks and hitting the tile floor of the shower where cool water pooled around them.

"In here," Chau's voice called as the Headmaster and a group of witches and wizards came rushing to their aid.

Everything that happened afterwards was a bit of a blur for her. She was ushered away from Cedric as medi-wizards took her place. Headmaster Boulstridge shunted her and Chau Chang out into the corridor and into the arms of the waiting Defense professor, who took them to the Headmaster's office.

* * *

"Stop pacing!" Chau whined, shifting in his chair in front of the Headmaster's desk.

Hermione looked over at him from her place in front of the hearth. They had been in Archibald's office for an hour now. She was beginning to wonder if they had forgotten them. Or worse, if something was dreadfully wrong with Cedric.

Of course, the burns had been awful, but there was no way that things should be taking this long. Should they?

"I can't help it," Hermione sighed dejectedly. "This waiting is driving me mad... What is taking so long?!" She turned on her heel and stared into the fire, but found that it only reminded her of the blazing envelope which was responsible for the current circumstances. "They could at least send someone to tell us what is going on," Hermione grumbled, twisting away from the fire.

"Be patient," Chau mumbled, although he, too, was feeling rather antsy. Not only because Cedric's condition was a mystery to them, but because he was wondering how the letter had gotten there in the first place. "Hermione?" he finally spoke up, unable to bear the thought anymore.

"Hmm?"

"You said you just found the letter on the floor, right?"

"Yes," Hermione nodded, knowing exactly where her roommate was going with this line of questioning. "But I do not know how it got there..."

"Doesn't it scare you?" Chau muttered, pretending to study the pattern on the carpet below his chair. He traced the toe of his shoe along the lines of the swirls and spirals, his stomach beginning to churn at the thought of how the note had gotten into the room.

"If it bothers you, Chau, I would not be offended if you requested a roommate transfer..."

"I wouldn't do that," he said, frowning at the way her expression became even more downcast than before. "I'm going to stand by you through this, that I promise... I just worry about what this crazed fool is going to do next. If he's already gained access to our room, then I don't see what's stopping him from... doing the unspeakable."

"I know," Hermione whispered, experiencing more sympathy for Chau than for herself.

* * *

It had cost him a lot of patience, which was why he was now taking out his mass frustrations on moss and ivy-covered, disintegrating statues in the Muggle park. He jerked his arm, brandishing his wand at a statue of a prominent man who once lived in the town. The head of the statue exploded into rubble, showering down and scattering debris.

Roden had known that his patience was of the utmost importance, but he had never estimated that waiting to kill Hermione Granger would be so straining on his will. He had been so close last night. His face had been mere inches from hers as he sneered at her sleeping figure. And when she had gotten up this morning as he had hidden under her bed, it took immense amounts of restraint to keep from following her to the bathroom and drowning her there. So, instead, he had left a letter that would put her in St. Mungo's and bring her tremendous amounts of pain.

He cackled darkly to himself as he set fire to another statue. He watched the blaze grow and thrive, imagining Hermione's anguished face in place of the sculpture's stern, unmoving one. Roden could almost hear her blood-chilling scream as the flames licked her skin and blistered it with tortuous burns. And he knew that her screams would draw help, and when they tried to use water, the cursed flames would only burn harder and hotter. Then they would have no choice but to suffocate the flames, take away their oxygen, and leave them burn out. Afterward, the academy staff would be forced to take her to the wizarding hospital for care. He would slip into St. Mungo's tomorrow then, while in a clever disguise, and he would snatch her from her hospital bed.

After that, her life would be his to do as he wished with. She would be in no fit state to fight him, although he desired a fight with her. He wanted to battle her and come out victorious. He needed her demise to be atrocious and taxing to both her mind and body. He would run her ragged, demean her spirit, and essentially break her.

* * *

"How is Cedric?" Chau and Hermione fired in unison as the Headmaster entered his office.

"He has been stabilized and transported to St. Mungo's hospital. His parents are with him now," Boulstridge informed as he bypassed Hermione and took a seat at his desk. He scrubbed his hands over his face and poured himself a cup of luke warm tea. He dropped in a few mint leaves and stirred them about by swirling his wand above the rim of the cup. After taking a sip, he gestured for Hermione to take a seat next to Chau Chang. "Please, Miss Granger, sit."

Hermione frowned deeply and felt her throat constrict. Pain swelled there and in her chest, beating a guilty, nervous tirade on her collarbone. She stared at the ceiling, willing whatever was lodging itself in her esophagus with the guilt to bypass and allow her to breathe without tears.

Chau reached over and clenched her hand in his. He knew she was blaming herself when she should not. He knew she was suffering greatly because she was worried for Cedric in a way that no other friend could because she cared more deeply for him than any of his friends truthfully did, even if neither of them would admit it. Chau hated to see her beating herself up like this. She had not asked for things to be this way, after all.

"After careful consideration and consultation with the Minister of Magic," Archibald sighed over the rim of his teacup, "I have decided to send you home, Miss Granger--"

"What?!" Chau gasped. "That's not fair!" The half vampire could not believe what he was hearing. He had always been told that the Headmaster was an understanding, kind, and gentle man that had great compassion for his students. However, kicking Hermione out of the academy was not something that a person of that stature would do. Chau needed to stand up for his friend. "Hermione is the best student in our year; she's going to make a damn good Auror when she finishes her schooling here! It would absolutely ignorant to send her away!"

"Mr. Chang, please," Boulstridge calmed, a smile tugging at the corner of his lips despite all that was happening. It gave him hope for the future to see that this poor, tortured girl had dedicated, faithful friends.

"But--"

"I think you have misunderstood me," the Headmaster continued as he looked from the shocked and outraged Asian to the pale, fearful girl in question. "I am not permanently sending Miss Granger home. She will remain a student here at the academy, and she is more than welcome to return to the school when you and the rest of your classmates do from holiday break... Nonetheless," he added, turning his attention to Hermione, "as of right this moment, Minister Shacklebolt and myself feel that it would be within your best interest to send you home early."

"Why, though? And what about my exams?" Hermione breathed shakily. "I will miss them if you send me home now."

"I realize this," Boulstridge nodded, inwardly amazed by her lack of self-concern, at least when it came to her safety. He was proud of her fidelity to her studies, though. "I fully intend on having each of your professors extend you a grace period so that you may take your exams when you return. I am going to explain the circumstances to them, and considering that they are a generous staff, I'm certain that they will allot you this temporary exemption."

"What's to say that Hermione is going to be any safer at home, though?" Chau interrupted, care glistening in his alluring, almond-shaped eyes. Their black depths spoke of a thousand perturbing thoughts that poked and prodded his conscience.

"The Minister is going to handle protection outside of the school," the Headmaster answered. "As for what he plans on doing, well... I have not the slightest clue. He said that he is going to show up at your home tomorrow around noon to discuss this with you and your parents, though."

"My parents," Hermione repeated fretfully. She did not want her parents to know about this. She had told them nearly everything that had ever occurred in her life, but this was one time that she was hesitant about conversing her issues with them. They would never sympathize with her wishes to remain in the wizarding world and the Auror Academy if they knew that some demented and disturbed ex-Death Eater was out to get her. "They cannot know about this..."

"I'm afraid Kingsley has left neither myself or you much choice in the matter," Archibald sighed. "He has had some Aurors investigate the dorm room which you two share and feels that it is safe for you both to return. You should begin packing your things, Miss Granger. Two Aurors will be here at eight o'clock sharp to Portkey you home."

Hermione's brain was on a downward spiral as it tried to make sense of the things that had happened in the short span of half a day. She could scarcely wrap her brain around the tribulations that had befallen her and were likely still lurking around the corner, waiting on the opportunity to catch her off guard again.

"C'mon," Chau susurrated, his hand squeezing hers as he stood. "I'll help you pack."

Hermione rose from her seat, her head bowed. She felt like her world was falling to pieces. But despite all the stomach-churning thoughts of how her parents would try to prevent her from returning to the wizarding world, only one thing kept pulsing heavily in her brain: When would she see Cedric again? And would he forgive her for what happened?


	21. Hidden Surveillance

**A/N: **Here, my lovelies, is my Christmas gift to you: A triple post... with only a minute left in Christmas Day. I had only planned on double post, but I'm on a role in the writing department, so I'm going to keep going. The next two chapters will be along a little bit later. Probably in a few hours. But first, some thanks for those who reviewed the last chapter. Season's gratitude to: _Dramione-Fan 17, Tate Dean, Lizzy Evans, pottersgirl91, Rin1507, NJ Fan, Elliesmeow _(by the way, it is to you, Ellie, that I owe a special thanks for sparking a brainstorm within my thick skull. You gave me the pen I needed to connect the dots. Again, thank you...), _Mary-La, Rachelli, _and _ForeverBlue90._ Now, my sweets, enjoy part one of your Christmas Day update.

* * *

**Chapter 21 – Hidden Surveillance**

Hermione sat impatiently on the couch in her parents' living room. She had been awake since six o'clock that morning. Her restlessness had made it impossible to sleep since she came home last night.

She had been Portkeyed to her home in Crawley just after dinner at the academy. When she had shown up, her parents were rather surprised to see her. They had questioned her appearance, and when Hermione told them that she had been sent home early for her safety, they went into a tirade of quizzical outrageous.

Why had she not told them what was happening? What was going on? Was it connected to the attack on their house at the beginning of the summer? Was she returning to the academy and, if so, when? What was being done to ensure her security? Who was Cedric Diggory? Since he was in St. Mungo's hospital, who would protect her now? Was it safe for her friends and other family to go about their normal routines? Would they have to be under protection, too? The Grangers were in no hurry to return to the Ministry appointed house in Brighton, after all.

They had fired one question after another, and she had resignedly answered each, letting her frustration bottle up until she retired to her room later that night. When she had finally found herself behind the locked door of her bedroom, she had pressed her face into her pillow and cried.

Normally she was not the type to be reduced to tears over such a thing. That was not to say that it did not happen, though. The few times that she had allowed herself an emotional outrage, she had found herself cracking under intense pressure. However, she had never fully broken; she had never given in to the pressure and overwhelming issues. She had always worked her way through them, and that was exactly what she was going to do now. If the Minister ever arrived, that was...

She was a strong, somewhat independent young witch. Or so she kept telling herself as she checked the clock on the mantle for the fifteenth time in what seemed like hours. In reality, it had only been forty minutes since she had retired to her ungratified position on the sofa. In fact, she was so absorbed in watching the clock tick down the minutes to noon that she had failed to take in the restoration that the Ministry had done to the living room after her stalker's attack there.

The furniture was new. Not quite the same style as before, but it was just as comfortable and in something of the same color. Bookshelves had been rebuilt and the nicknacks and awards had been regenerated, too. The charring and damage to the floors had been covered up with new carpeting. Wallpaper and drapery had been replaced as well. All in all, the room was beautiful and meticulous once more, but she still took no notice.

A fidgety sigh rolled from her lips and interrupted the rhythmic tick-tock of the clock.

Her mother was in the kitchen. She had kept a watchful eye on Hermione all morning. And if truth be told, she was feeling just as antsy. Her worries over her daughter—her only child—had kept her from a restful night's sleep. She had tossed and turned, crept to the kitchen for a warm mug of tea, and checked on Hermione periodically. After all of that, she still had not felt any better. So here she stood now, her mind racing with concerns for her husband, who was at work, and troublesome thoughts of her daughter's stalker.

Mrs. Granger was trying to distract herself by preparing tea and coffee and some snacks. She was not succeeding in occupying her mind with being a good hostess, though. It was like her brain was an apple, and worry was a worm that ate its way through with ease.

She turned and walked as softly as possible across the floor to the doorway. She peered in at her daughter's frazzled figure on the couch where she sat rubbing her temples and seemingly staring off into space. Then something happened that had them both jumping.

Green flames kindled to life in the hearth that sat nestled between the bookshelves and ornate masonry. They crackled loudly, acting as an announcement of someone's arrival.

Hermione leaped up from the couch and skirted the coffee table to come closer. Her hand was resting near her hip, hovering over the handle of her wand. Her mother dashed forward, her hands clutching at Hermione's shoulders in a protective gesture.

When the flames reduced to a hearty, but controlled blaze, Kingsley Shacklebolt's face appeared. His deep, thunderous tones flowed out into the living room, practically making the room around them rumble.

"Miss Granger? I apologize for the abrupt intrusion, but I could not get away from the Ministry to make a visit in person... The Minister of Magic in Africa will be arriving within a half hour, so I could not leave. However, I do wish to settle your thoughts and give you some assurance of your safety," Kingsley informed.

"Her safety? Have you caught the lunatic? Because if not, she's not all that safe!" Mrs. Granger erupted.

"Mother!" Hermione snapped sharply, whipping around to gaze at the woman who had given birth to her. "Please!"

"Hermione--"

"Sit down, please," Shacklebolt butt in, his face looking apologetic even through the green fire. "Allow me to explain what we have planned to keep you at ease and out of harm's reach."

Hermione looked over her shoulder at the fireplace for a moment before settling in an armchair as her mother perched on the edge of the sofa cushions. When they seemed as settled as possible, Kingsley gave a sigh, making the flames ripple and waver.

"I have placed my personal secretary on the job of searching through every known Death Eater we have on file. He has pulled every likely candidate and passed the files on to one of our Aurors, Mr. Dawlish."

"What criteria classifies them as likely?" Mrs. Granger inquired. "And how many suspects are there?"

"There are twelve files... twelve suspects, but we are not limiting it to only those witches and wizards. It's possible that this person was an unknown Death Eater," the Minister explained. "Each of the people on file are still at large... I have allowed Dawlish to assemble a team of six Aurors for the case. I wish I could spare more, but as it is, I have hand-chosen three other members of our Magical Law Enforcement Department to monitor your home and your daughter's movements."

"I'm going to be shadowed?" Hermione quizzed in part shock, part disgust. She would never have a moment to herself. If it was the aim of her stalker to drive her nuts, then they were on the right track.

"I'm afraid I have no other choice," Kingsley frowned. "I do apologize, but this is growing out of hand. You have had numerous attempts at contact and more from this anonymous attacker, and it should not have escalated as far as it has." He looked frustrated more than concerned, which made them realize that he was disappointed that she had had so many threats and attempts on her life. "I will promise you discrete proctoring that will not alarm your visitors or neighbors. I wish to give you the most privacy possible during this ordeal."

"When will this supervision begin?" Mrs. Granger grilled. "Is Hermione the only one under surveillance, or are you extending it to her family and friends as well?"

"At the moment, I ask the Aurors watching her to merely pay attention to her and those around her in whatever environment she resides. The reason I exercise only this precaution is because the attacks seem to be—barring two particular incidents—happening only around her. The exceptions being the packages delivered to your home and the Weasley residence. Those, however, were still postmarked for her, so it was just a matter of being in the wrong place at the wrong time... As for when this oversight will begin, I have the first Auror en route to your home as we speak."

"Is there anything else that can be done in the meantime?" Hermione asked in a detached way.

"Not much... Until we know more, I fear that we are doing all that we can," Kingsley muttered through the flames.

"I see," Hermione sighed, frowning down at her hands as they clasped and rested on her knees. "How is Cedric Diggory?" she quizzed a moment later.

"He is due to be released from the hospital either tonight or tomorrow," the Minister responded. "He will likely return to school afterward."

"Is there any way that I can see him?"

"As of right now, I must deny that request. In fact, I ask that you remain home as often as possible during this break. It is much easier to keep an eye on you when we do not have to anticipate your movements and the actions of others during those moves."

"I understand," Hermione mumbled disappointedly.

"We will be able to travel for the holidays, right?" Mrs. Granger asked, sounding put out. "We don't want to leave Hermione home alone or stay cooped up and miserable in our house alone."

"Just please let me know where you plan on going so that I may alert my Aurors," Shacklebolt cautioned.

"We will," Hermione piped up, shifting discontentedly in her seat.

"Very well," the Minister nodded, the image of his head shimmering in the emerald flames. "I regret that I must leave now. I am sealing off the Floo Network here and will send weekly progress reports along with the Aurors on watch."

"Thank you, Minister Shacklebolt," Hermione good-byed, standing up slowly and giving the impression that she was much older than she truly was.

"Enjoy your break and have a pleasant holiday," he bid before disappearing along with the blaze in the hearth. Soot swirled and the heat that had been lightly emanating was gone in a flash.

Mrs. Granger felt that his farewell was like a cruel joke. How could any of them enjoy the holidays while feeling like prisoners in their own home? Where would the cheer be in that?

* * *

Days had ticked by like years, or so it had felt like that to Hermione. She had tried to be as yuletide and merry as possible, but not knowing what her stalker was doing and being away from her friends while they were at school was driving her nearly insane. She was missing her exams and any fun that they might be partaking in. She hated the idea of being left behind yet again. She had thought that the days of her trailing behind everyone else had ended when she graduated Hogwarts and joined the Auror Academy.

She had tried to occupy herself with Christmastime preparations like wrapping gifts, baking cookies, and decorating the house. Hermione needed some sort of distraction, but she gave up on each of those tasks when she could not properly complete them. She became frustrated each time as she burnt dozen after dozen of cookies and could not get the paper on her packages to fold or fit just right. She had broken no less than six ornaments and screamed in vexation at the tangle in the lights. Each time, her father and mother had taken over and finished the tasks for her, which left her nothing to do but bury her nose in a book. And that was exactly what she was undertaking now, but without much success.

She slammed the book shut, tossing it onto her nightstand and almost knocking off her lamp. Hermione rolled out of her bed and immediately shivered. Folding her arms over her chest, she walked to the window and sighed uneasily. The glass pane fogged instantly, clouding with the heat of her breath against its chilly, pristine surface. She raised a finger and drew two eyes and a frown before wiping her fingers over it to erase the marks. That was when she noticed something.

A light dusting of snow had covered the ground during the night before and in the soft, white powder that thinly blanketed the ground, there were footprints. The odd thing about them, though, was that they changed suddenly. The steps of a human turned to those of a small mammal, and if she was right, that mammal was a rabbit.

Pulling on a housecoat, Hermione skittered from her room and down the stairs. She rushed by her father, who was pouring himself some coffee at the kitchen counter.

"Hermione?" he called as she wrenched open the back door and burst outside. "It's below freezing out there! Where are your shoes? Hat? Gloves?!"

She did not listen, though. Instead, she skid to a halt at the edge of the steps and watched the prints come around the corner of the house and go under the back steps. She stamped her feet and seconds later a gray hare bounded out from under the porch. It hopped speedily out into the yard and turned to look at her with round, glittering black eyes.

"So that's how they're doing it," she thought aloud, her messy hair whipping in the wind. "I should have figured it out sooner... The letters slipping under the front door and never any evidence of a person. The stray collie that turned up just after I got home..."

"Hermione?" her father spoke in hushed, cautious tones. He was afraid his daughter had finally snapped. It was one thing to speak to an animal to get its attention or call it to you, but to have a full blown conversation with it was entirely another thing. "Is everything all right?"

"Perfectly all right," she answered quickly, a smile stretching on her features.

Under other circumstances, Mr. Granger would have been happy to see his daughter beaming because he had not seen her flash so much as half a grin since she had come home. However, the slightly erratic gleam in her eyes made him worry.

"Good, darling, good... I have a favor to ask of you," he added, trying to steer the subject to safer, more sane waters. "Your mother put me up to filling out the Christmas cards this year, and you know how I hate that... Besides, your handwriting is so much more pleasant than mine... Would you fill out the cards for me? I'll come back later today and get them during my lunch break so that they can be mailed."

"Sure, Dad," she replied distractedly, looking over her shoulder and scanning the yard for the rabbit. It was gone, though.

"That a girl," he encouraged, gripping her shoulder and guiding her to the door. "Come inside now before you catch cold. Your mother is already worrying herself ill... we don't need you joining her in the sick bed." Hermione nodded and proceeded through the kitchen as her father continued to speak. "The cards are on the desk, near the stairs. I'll bring up some cocoa and candy canes for you in a moment."

She sighed and wondered if she would see the Animagus hare again. If she did, could she corner it long enough to force a switch and ask questions? The Minister's letters were not much of an update. Of course, it had only been a week and a half since she had come home, so that meant that there had only been a single note. Nonetheless, that note had been devoid of detail or any real information. It had merely promised that the Ministry and the appointed people were still working diligently to bring down her pursuer and that they were now questioning imprisoned Death Eaters for information as well.

But why would those in Azkaban give the Ministry any information that could help them to help her? She was dirty blood and part of the reason that they were sitting in prison now as it were, so they certainly would not want to divulge valuable tidbits. What sort of leverage did the Ministry have over these inmates that made them speak on the matter at all, if they did? Was the Minister making deals with hardened criminals in order to gain accusations and names for her sake? And if so, just how many people were taking those deals? Were any of them really in their right minds and capable of giving coherent details? They were captives of Azkaban and its awful Dementor guards, after all.

It was a dizzying idea, which she needed to stop contemplating before she drove herself mad.

She sat down at her desk and began laying out cards. She pulled out the list of names and addresses her mother had placed in the box. Huffing out a breath, Hermione began scripting out names and addresses. She had filled out fourteen envelopes when a peck came to the window. She sprang to her feet as though someone had lit a fire beneath her seat. Throwing open the window, Hermione let Azariel into her room with an ecstatic, grateful greeting. She stroked the owl affectionately as she began pulling at the tie on her leg.

"You don't know how happy I am to see you," she whispered excitedly, giving the owl a stroke on the beak.

Hermione unrolled the piece of parchment, exhilaration galloping through her. Her face cracked into a cheshire grin when she saw Harry's slanted, untidy scrawl.

_Dear Hermione,_

_Sorry for not writing you sooner. Exams are tougher than Ron and I expected. Everyone here sends their best. Neville and Chau said to tell you that they miss you a lot. Chau said that Cedric is doing very well, too. He has been keeping an eye on him for you._

_Miss you,_

_Harry and Ron_

_P.S. We expect to be home in two days and hope to see you soon!_

Hermione read the letter three more times before placing it aside. She picked up five cards, relief and true comfort dancing in her veins as she wrote a quick reply to each of her friends. Once she had finished, she attached the envelopes to Azariel's leg.

"Take these back to the academy. Harry will know what to do with them once he gets them."

Opening the window, Hermione ushered the snowy owl out into the cold air. She watched, leaning in the sill as the ethereal bird spread her wings and took flight. Azariel stood out plainly against the gray sky, drifting on the chilly wind on her journey back to the academy.

With her mind finally turning more slowly, Hermione managed to sit back down at her desk and write out the rest of the Christmas cards. Relief and new hope were lighting in her once more.

* * *

Roden sat at the long dining table in his family's mansion. His worn, thick-soled boots were resting on the edge of the table as he relaxed back in one of the tall, heavy, wooden chairs. A partridge struggled in the center of the table before him. Its wings had been pinned down to the table with a fork and knife.

"One the first day of Christmas," Roden mumbled in a sing-song fashion as the bird squawked, "my true enemy gave to me..." His arms stretched high above his head as he lifted his legs off the table. He reached to his right, grasping another knife in his hand. He pretended to stretch again before slamming his fist downward. The blade plunged into the partridge's tan and cream-colored chest. Blood splattered, and its red legs twitched as an anguished, panicked call died on the air. "A bloody partridge in red wrapping..."

Roden grabbed the stiffening red feet and gave them a yank. The wings were rent brutally, but it did not phase him as he dropped the pheasant into a gift box with a rotten pear. He placed the lid on the box and sealed it with ribbon. He tucked the box under his arm and crossed the room to where two owls awaited with a harness strapped between them. He nestled the parcel into the cradle and opened the dining room window.

"Merry Christmas, Hermione Granger," he chuckled sinisterly as the owls hopped onto the window ledge and out into the nighttime air.

* * *

Cedric opened the front door to his house and was immediately enveloped in his mother's arms.

"My son," she sighed contentedly as she backed away and straightened his jumper. "Have you been putting on the burn salve they gave you?" she quizzed as she grabbed his hand and pushed back his sleeve to inspect the scars marring his left arm.

"Yes, Mum," he murmured, giving the door a nudge with his heel as he tried to squeeze inside out of the cold.

"Good," she beamed. "Now go put your things away and wash up for dinner. Your father will be home within the hour. He's going to want your help putting up the tree after dinner."

"Great," Cedric half groaned as he trudged over to the stairs.

The madness was starting already, and he had not even been home a full day yet. He could hardly wait until he was finished with Auror schooling so that he could get a flat of his own somewhere in London. Although, he had a feeling that his mother would pop in frequently and that his father would come to visit after work nearly every day. He loved his parents, there was no denying that, but sometimes they could be so overbearing. And right now, their smothering was making him even more irritated.

He opened his dresser drawer and began shoving his clothes inside as he unpacked. He had been in somewhat of a foul disposition since he had returned from St. Mungo's. School had been rough, especially with everyone asking questions. The thing that had bugged him the most, though, was that Hermione had been escorted immediately from the school before he could speak to her, check on her.

Cedric had been prepared to write her when he had returned to school and found her missing, but his exams had begun demanding all of his time. Not to mention Chau Chang had not left his side. In fact, the brilliant half vampire had coerced Cedric's new roommate into switching rooms so that Chau could keep a constant watch on Diggory. The gesture was kind and rather touching, but it was beginning to be more of an annoyance than a good.

Diggory sighed and shook away that train of thought. He knew that Chau had meant well. He was, after all, one of the best friends that Cedric had. But the way that Chang had insistently badgered him to keep up a routine with his medicated salve had driven Cedric nearly mad. Diggory had told the younger boy that he was worse than the nurse at St. Mungo's and that he thought Chau was taking on the wrong profession by becoming an Auror. When Chau simply shrugged away the remark by saying he did not have the dedication to be a healer, he went on to rant about how Cedric should not have tried to be so stubborn while opening that letter. All in all, Chau Chang had become a bothersome roommate, and no matter how many times Cedric had told himself that it was all for the better and out of care, he still ended up rolling his eyes and feeling very vexed, which lead to another line of ire-inducing comments.

The handsome Asian had had the audacity to tell Cedric that he was grouchy many times during the two weeks that they shared a room. In fact, Chau had elaborated on his accusation by saying that he thought Cedric was in such a wicked and awful mood because he missed Hermione. This only brought about more charges from the younger boy. He incriminated Cedric of having feelings for Hermione, which was not exactly something he had not done before, but this time it was particularly aggravating.

Now that Diggory was home, there was no hope of relief from that sort of fuss either. His mother would certainly take up Chau's beleaguering, at least in the medicinal department. Not to mention, once the family arrived for Christmas, the torture would surely double. Yet there was one way that Cedric could keep himself in good spirits, and that was to see a certain someone.

Of course he had told Chau Chang that Hermione was just a friend, and he was telling the truth. They were just friends. Friends who had made plans to see each other for Christmas and keep one another of sound mind.

He smiled as he shoved the last of his clothes into his drawer and gave it a rough push to shut it. He dumped the rest of his luggage on the bed and jogged downstairs to join his mother in the kitchen. His father would be home soon, and he needed to have a serious discussion with him about visiting Hermione.


	22. Guilt and Gifts

**A/N: **Here is the second chapter of the triple Christmas update. It's a little later than the first, but here all the same. Oh, and a quick thank you to those who got to read chapter twenty-one so fast: _Dramione-Fan 17 _and _Tate Dean_. You two are just too speedy! :)

* * *

**Chapter 22 – Guilt and Gifts**

"Your sister said she is coming tomorrow afternoon," Mrs. Granger informed her husband as she arranged packages under the Christmas tree for the third time that week. "I need to go to the store before they arrive."

"But I have to work tomorrow," Mr. Granger retorted from his armchair. "I have two root canals, five pullings, and a set of braces." He sat his book on the end table and watched his wife with lazy interest.

"When shall I go to the store, then?" Mrs. Granger snapped, glaring over her shoulder at her husband. He was not being very helpful lately. "I can't just leave Hermione here by herself!" she reminded.

As the two bickered about their daughter, she stood soundlessly in the hallway upstairs. Her parents had been at odds over the last two days. Hermione had received another package from R.A. on the thirteenth, which had made her mother and father immensely paranoid. The dead partridge and rotting pear inside had been a putrid, unwanted surprise that had rattled them into feeling that they could not leave Hermione unattended.

She had, of course, told them that they could not put the festivities on hold for her. She reminded them of all the preparations that still need to be arranged and the Aurors keeping watch outside. If a Ministry appointed official could not keep her safe, then they were likely not to be much more help. She had also tried to convince them that she could care for herself anyways. Mrs. Granger had scoffed at that comment and refused to hear anymore rebuttals from Hermione.

Now, as she stood listening to their arguing, she felt that she could not take anymore. She needed this madman who was bent on harming her to be captured. He was tearing her life apart, ruining her schooling, alienating her friends and family, and just making things overly difficult in general.

"I guess we have no choice but to leave her alone for a short period of time," Mr. Granger growled. Hermione could hear him rise from his chair and head to the kitchen.

"I haven't the vaguest idea of why you didn't just take tomorrow off anyways," Mrs. Granger griped, following her husband.

"How many more times are we going to shut down the office this year?" Mr. Granger roared, slamming a mug down onto the counter and glowering at his wife.

Hermione had never heard her parents fight quite like this; however, her family had never been in a situation that was quite this extreme either. Sure her involvement with the war had worried them deeply, but they had never fought about her. Of course, they had never had to take shifts to watch her during the final war with Voldemort.

"Keep your voice down," Mrs. Granger hissed in warning, her stare drilling holes into him.

"It is only the fourteenth," Hermione's father pointed out, changing his tone. He was a peaceful man normally. He did not enjoy having rows with his spouse like this. "Technically, I should not close the office for at least another four days, dear."

"What is four days going to hurt? We need someone here with our daughter at all times," she prompted desperately.

"How are we going to support and care for our daughter if we have no practice, though?" Mr. Granger barked, irritation weaseling its way back into his system. She just would not see logic and reason, and that annoyed him greatly. "If we continue to shut down and cancel or reschedule appointments like this, we're going to lose business... In any case, someone is here. One of those Auriewhatsits are supposed to be outside at all hours of the day."

He had always been the more business minded of the two. She had a wish to help people with their dental problems—as did he—but she was better with children and families. He was known for his excellent work and fair practices. They had always been great partners because she had never questioned his ethics like she was doing now. Although, she had never had reason to before.

Back upstairs, Hermione was starting to feel like a burden to her parents. She felt like an infant that was greatly inconveniencing them. She had never wished more than she did now that she could retreat to the Burrow and the warmth and love of the Weasley family. She hated not to spend Christmas with her family, but she had a feeling that if she did not find a way to give her parents some reprieve soon, her family would be a broken one.

* * *

"Have you talked to the Minister yet, Dad?" Cedric inquired as he sat at the island bar in the Diggorys' kitchen.

"Not yet, son," Amos sighed as he pulled on his shoes. Cedric had been bugging his father about asking the Minister to allow Hermione to visit since he had came home Friday night. Nearly four days worth of pestering was starting to get on his last nerve; his son had not been this persistent since before he had gone off to Hogwarts. "Kingsley is a very busy wizard. His schedule is full, and he can hardly be pinned down in one place long enough for me to ask him about such matters."

"Why are you so insistent on this girl coming to visit anyways?" Mrs. Diggory asked as she levitated little gingerbread people from a cookie sheet. She had listened to her son ranting to his father all weekend and now her curiosity was getting the better of her.

"She's a friend of mine who needs a little cheering up and some added reassurance and protection," Cedric mumbled as he pushed his spoon about in his cereal. He had a feeling that this subject was about to take a bad turn. "What is so wrong about me wanting to see her, then?"

"It sounds to me like you've taken quite the interest in this girl," his mother smiled as she set the rolling pin to work while she iced her freshly made gingerbread. "Are you sure she's not more than a friend?" She made little heart-shaped buttons and felt an awful lot like humming as she waited for her son's answer. His justificatory mood must mean that he was trying to hide something, otherwise he would just shrug the matter away.

Cedric sighed heavily and massaged his fingers across his forehead.

"Why can I not just be good friends with a girl? Why does everyone think that I'm in love with her?" he complained. He knew his mother was going to make him barmy with all her nagging, but he had never expected her to tease him about Hermione.

"Are you sure you should be getting so attached to this girl?" Amos cautioned, thinking about how close his son had come to death by cursed fire.

"What do you mean?" Cedric all but snarled in a defensive fashion. "You don't even know her!"

"Sure does seem like you like her as more than a friend," his mother chattered happily as she poured herself some warm cider. She hoped that Amos would let this girl come to visit; Cedric had not brought home a girlfriend since his sixth year at Hogwarts when his girlfriend of the time, Cho Chang, tagged along for Christmas break.

"I am not demeaning her character, Cedric," Amos explained, not wishing to fight with his son, "but just being friends with her landed you in St. Mungo's with some serious burns... What if it had been worse?"

"That wasn't her fault," Cedric pointed out. "I was the one who opened the letter when I shouldn't have. It was my own stupid fault."

"But had you not been so concerned over her, would you ever have come across that letter?" his father countered, trying to make his only son—his only child, in fact—see reason.

"That's not fair! It's not like she wants this stuff to happen."

"Cedric's right, love," Mrs. Diggory cut in. "I'm sure the poor girl doesn't want any of this. I think a vacation is just what she needs, and we have always been a helpful family."

"C'mon, Dad... She needs some support. Besides, what place could be safer for her? The wizard after her wouldn't know that she was here. You're an Auror, and I'm an Auror in training. I don't see how the Minister could deny this request," Cedric proposed, trying his best to persuade his father.

"I'll ask if I see him today," Amos resigned, knowing he was outnumbered.

"Thank you," Cedric breathed.

"Where's your Christmas spirit, Amos?" his wife chided. "We should welcome Cedric's girlfriend with open arms no matter what she's going through."

"She's not my girlfriend!" her son barked, feeling that today was going to be particularly agitating.

* * *

"Please, Mum, just go," Hermione huffed for the dozenth time as she stood halfway up the steps, gazing down in exhaustion at her mother. "I'm not going anywhere and there is an Auror outside." Here she gestured animatedly at the window next to her. "Nothing is going to happen... You had better leave before our guests get here," she added as a reminder.

"Fine," Mrs. Granger huffed, giving a warning look to her daughter. "If you so much as step a toe out that door, Hermione..." She left the threat hanging in the air as she buttoned up her coat, pulled on her gloves, and grabbed her purse from the desk. "I'll be back soon."

"All right," Hermione sighed half-heartedly. She watched as her mother gave her one last worried glance before turning and going out into the evening chill.

Hermione turned and wandered like a snail up the stairs. She walked to the end of the hallway and peered out the window at the snow flurries that had begun to fall. Maybe she could convince her family to let Harry and Ron come to visit. They could Apparate to somewhere close and then her father could pick them up and bring them home with him. She smiled at the idea of having them spend Christmas with her.

They had never stayed at her home. They had always went to Ron's because they were away from the city then and had room to play Quidditch—something Hermione never took part in—or they could swim in the pond near the Burrow over the summer. It had been the ideal place for them to hang out while they were growing up. But since they were now adults, maybe it was time for a change of routine.

Hermione turned away from the window and headed for her room. She was going to write a letter to Harry and Ron. Surely they would be writing her soon to see how she was doing, so she would have her reply ready to send back with Azariel.

As she neared the doorway of her room, a knock came from the front door downstairs. She peered into her room at the clock on her nightstand. Her father would not be home from work yet, so it was certainly not him. Her mother could not be done shopping by; she had only left five minutes. So that eliminated her as well. Not to mention, her parents had keys, so they would not knock to be let in. It must be her aunt and her family.

"I told Mum to leave sooner," Hermione mumbled to herself as she descended the steps. There was another knock, this time a little louder. "I'm coming!" She jogged down the last few steps and half skipped to the door before throwing it open, a greeting on the tip of her tongue. "Cedric!" she gasped, surprised to see her old roommate rather than her relatives. "What are you doing here?"

"Just fancied a visit," he beamed with a shrug. A furry, black and white collie sat a step behind him near the edge of the front porch. He surveyed them for a moment before turning and leaping down onto the sidewalk. He trotted away, snow starting to spot the coal-colored parts of his fur. "So... can I come in? Or is this a bad time?"

"Of course!" Hermione partially squeaked. She could not get past the shock of seeing him.

He stepped inside, squeezing himself and his bag by her.

"I don't mean to impose," he said as he stopped beside the couch and looked around her living room.

"You're not."

"I just figured that I would take you up on the offer you made back at school," he explicated. When she said nothing, he felt a nervous itch creep up his spine. "If that offer still stands, that is..."

"It certainly does," she answered too quickly. "I just never expected you to take me seriously on the offer," she half laughed while twisting her fingertips together behind her back.

"If you weren't serious, I can leave. It's--"

"No, no! That's not what I meant," Hermione gushed, feeling heat color her cheeks. "I just mean that I didn't expect you to actually want to spend time with me over the holidays..." She rocked back and forth on the balls of her socked feet as he surveyed her in mild confusion.

"Why wouldn't I want to come see you?" he inquired in bewilderment. "I mean, we are friends, after all... right?"

"Absolutely!"

"Well, then... here I am!" he announced happily, glad to see the conversation taking a turn from the awkward. "Where's your parents?"

"My dad is at work and my mom is out shopping for when our guests arrive."

"Are you sure that it's okay that I'm here?" he asked after a moment. He had never thought about inconveniencing her and her family because he was an unexpected guest. They already had people coming to visit, and he did not want to put them out.

"It's perfect fine," Hermione assured him. "Take your coat and shoes off... stay. It's no trouble. Can I get you something? Are you hungry or thirsty? Would you like me to show you where you can put your bag?"

"Only if you're sure that it's fine that I stay," Cedric stated in delighted agreement.

"I already told you," she sighed amusedly, "it's really all right." She took his coat and hung it in the closet next to the front door as he took off his shoes and sat them on a rug her mother had put down on the opposite side of the door.

He stood up straight and shoved his hands in his pockets as he gazed around the room again.

"You have a nice home," he said, trying to start a conversation. He needed her to say something because the silence and cumbersome feelings were starting to make him anxious. He never should have shown up unannounced like this.

"Thank you," she said from inside the closet as she zipped up his coat on the hanger and placed it neatly next to her father's empty hanger. "It is kind of quaint, isn't it? It's always been very homey to me." She immediately felt stupid for her statement. Of course her own home would feel as such to her; it could hardly be called home if it did not.

"It's pleasant."

"C'mon... you can put your bag upstairs. We have a guest room, but my aunt will probably be staying there with her husband while their son and his friend stay in my room."

"Where do you sleep, then?" Cedric wondered, feeling that it was wrong that a young lady like her should be put out of her bed.

"I stay in my room, too," she answered over her shoulder as he followed her up the steps. "Most times I end up sneaking down to the couch, though... Noah and his friend, Daniel, can get extraordinarily bothersome."

"If those are the arrangements, where does your uncle and his girlfriend normally stay?"

"They stay in a hotel in town," Hermione informed as they came to the landing and took a right. "This is my room. You can keep your bag here in the bottom of the wardrobe. No one should bother it there."

He handed her his satchel and let his eyes wander the room as she placed it neatly on the bottom of the freestanding closet. He did not know what he had been expecting to see in her room. Maybe he had been anticipating some frilly, pink, and stuff animal-packed room, but that was certainly not what was there. In fact, her room was very ordinary by most terms.

A pale yellow comforter covered her twin-sized bed. The walls were white on the bottom half, lilac with white polka dots on the top. A plain violet trim separated the two halves. The furniture was not childish or anything special. Her bed and nightstand were simple white wood and her desk was oak. The wardrobe and dresser were matching, although of their own color wood as well. Unpatterned, sheer white curtains brushed the windowsill, and pictures decorated many of the surfaces that were not covered by books or souvenirs and ornaments from family vacations.

"It's not much," she whispered in a somewhat embarrassed air. "Of course, I haven't really been home much in the past several years to do much redecorating."

"It's great," he breathed. "It suits you." He looked around again and felt a warmth radiate through his chest, knowing that it was endearment for her growing in his heart. Maybe his mother had been right about him feeling something more than friendship for her.

"So," she said on an exhale. "How have you been feeling?"

He could see the guilt sparkling in her eyes as she stood before him.

"I'm fine," he answered, giving a shrug. "You really need not worry yourself about it."

"But you could have... could have been burnt," she muttered, twisting her socked toe into the beige carpet, "a-alive." The way she whispered the last word with such remorse and compunction spoke volumes on how she cared for him and how she regretted that he had been hurt on a count of her.

"Hey," he spoke with a tender voice. "I'm standing here now, aren't I?" When she only nodded, he reached out and touched her arm, trying to soothe her. "Where's your Christmas spirit? Where's your yuletide smile?"

She sighed and tried to at least smirk. She was about to apologize for being so downcast when there was a bark from outside. Frantic howling followed as an owl appeared at the window. It was carrying two turtledoves tied together by the legs with a sprig of mistletoe, making it obvious that R.A. was going to continue his morbid version of the Twelve Days of Christmas.

* * *

Roden waltzed along through the snow. He loved the way the thickening blanket of crystalline powder crunched and compacted beneath his feet. He liked to think that it was the fragile, petite bones of Hermione Granger as he stepped forcefully on her limbs.

He took long, heavy strides towards the farm up ahead. It was the only one for miles and there were no lights on in the windows. Either the inhabitants were asleep or away for holiday. Nonetheless, he would not let them stop him from doing a little shopping. He needed to get the Mudblood her third present.

"On the third day of Christmas," he whispered to himself as he trudged towards a henhouse.

A dog barked from its spot near the porch. It snarled and lashed out at him, but came up short when the chain holding it stretched to full length.

"_Petrificus Totalus!_" Avery cast.

The mangy dog froze in place and toppled to the hardened ground. Roden chuckled and turned his wand on the snow. He levitated some into the air and then piled it on top of the dog. By the time the family found their darling pooch, it would be froze to death.

Resuming his original plan, Avery moved swiftly to the henhouse once more. Inside, he could hear the hushed clucking of sleeping fowls as they sat ruffled and huddled together on their roosts. He pushed open the door and gazed around as the stark white moonlight poured in on the white and red-feathered animals. He raised his wand and picked up an empty feed sack near the door.

"My true enemy gave to me..."

As he was about to bind some of the birds, he spotted an ax leaning against a stump near a sizable pile of wood. Glee in its most sickening form broke out in a rush over his body. He retrieved the tool and then cast a Silencing Charm over the coop as he reentered. With a malicious giddiness, he snatched one of the sleeping hens off its nest and squeeze its neck. Clawed feet whipped about, trying to fight for freedom as the hen flapped its wings and gave a strangled holler.

Roden tossed the hen to the floor, and before it could right itself to run, he swung the ax. A loud squawk died on the air and was replaced by the thud of metal slamming into the wooden floorboards. Blood splashed over the area and many of the other occupants of the coop awoke with startled cries.

Avery jerked the ax free and snatched up the head of the chicken. He chucked it into the open, burlap sack before rounding on the other hens.

"One." He swung the deadly instrument again, knocking a rooster from its perch as he beheaded it.

He continued his massacre until he had killed nearly all of the hens and roosters in the coop. He gathered two more heads from the floor and placed them in the feed bag with the first.

"Two. Three," he counted as each plunked down with the first. He shook some feathers from his clothes and wiped blood from his cheek as he opened the door and deposited the ax near the henhouse ramp.

"Beheaded hens... Two dead turtledoves... And a bloody partridge in red wrapping..." He made his way through the snow, blood dripping from his clothes and the burlap pouch. It appeared black in the moonlight as it soaked into the snow.

Once Roden was safely away from the small farm house, he pulled out his wand again and disappeared with a noisy crack. He was headed back home to wrap Hermione's latest gift.


	23. Candy Canes and Chess

**A/N: **This chapter gave me a bit of a hard time. And for once, it was not writer's block that hindered me. Instead, it was finding time to sit down and write with all the holiday chaos and family time. Nonetheless, I knew what I needed to write and worked diligently on getting it down on Open Office paper. Now, here it is... I pray that you enjoy it thoroughly, my loves.

Also, as always, here are the thank you bits: _Rockin Ace, Dramione-Fan 17, Idle Writer of Crack, Rin1507, pottersgirl91, Tate Dean, Winter's Empire, NJ Fan, Elliesmeow, Cribellate, CT1994, Lizzy Evans, Rocket Drive, Mary-La, ChamberlinofMusic, Rachelli, _and _ForeverBlue90. _You are all wonderful, fantastic, smashing people, and I thank you from the bottom of my heart for being so dedicated. You are what drives me to keep writing.

One last thing before the reading: I know I owe someone an extra big thank you, but for the life of me, I cannot remember who. Shameful, I know, but I blame it on my S.T.M.L., ladies and gents. So, if that person could give my brain a kind kick, it would be appreciated. :)

* * *

**Chapter 23 – Candy Canes and Chess**

"I knew we shouldn't have left her alone," Mrs. Granger fretted as she sat at the kitchen table with her husband. He squeezed her hand in his and pushed a mug of strong peppermint tea towards her.

"At least she had someone here with her," Mr. Granger pointed out. "Two someones, in fact... Aside from being a little shaken, she's completely whole and unharmed."

She looked at him with eyes of despair, her expression careworn. He knew that it pained his darling wife to not be able to shelter their daughter from this. He was sure that if his spouse could, she would sweep Hermione away to a fantastical world of butterflies, pretty flowers, fairytale books, and rainbows that ended in pots of gold and happiness. But no such place existed, and even if it did, he knew that his daughter would be miserable there.

Mr. Granger knew that his precious child was an adult now, and even if he hated to admit it, she was capable of handling herself, especially considering she was a witch. She was still—and would forever be—his little girl, but his little girl was strong and defiant in her own way. He knew because he had raised her to be that way. He had raised her to fight with her intellect and stand by what she believed in. And right now, she trusted that she was—for the most part—safe because of the reinforcements outside and the boy visiting their home now, which was only yet another reminder of how grown up his beloved angel was. She had a boyfriend now.

Hermione had not openly admitted this, but he could see it. It had been in the way that she had said his name: Cedric Diggory. She had a twinkle in her eye and a smile tugging at the corner of her mouth. Hermione had made him out to be a hero, which had been due to more than just gratitude. It was adoration and infatuation. His sweet, beautiful daughter was smitten, and it appeared that this boy was just as taken with her, although he, too, was secretive about the feeling.

"What are we going to do when your sister gets here?" Mrs. Granger niggled as she pulled her hand from his and put her forehead in her palms. Her fingers combed into her hair, and she clenched them around the light brown, wavy stands. If some relief did not come soon, she would surely start pulling her locks out.

"We're going to be as hush about it as possible. There's no need to ruin everyone's holiday--"

"Ruin everyone's holiday?" she shrieked, slamming a fist down onto the table. "What about Hermione's holiday? Don't you think our daughter's holiday is ruined already?"

"Well of course I do," he hissed. "But we need to stay positive and try to salvage as much good spirit and happiness for her as we can. In doing so, we will keep her mind off of the bad and centered on the good."

"I'm glad that you think this is so blasted easy!" Mrs. Granger snarled as she shoved away from the table and snatched up one of their dental magazines. "I'm going to clean the bathroom."

He knew that was not what she was truly going to do, but he did not stop her. He needed to wait on his sister to arrive. She should have been in hours ago, but her family's drive north from Lewes had been delayed by some horrid road conditions.

Hermione's father rubbed his face vigorously with his hands and grabbed the discarded mug his wife had left sitting on the table. He breathed in the crisp, stiff sent of peppermint before taking a large swig. The tea was cold, but he took yet another gulp before sitting the cup aside. Pushing his chair back, he rose and walked to the sink. He stared out at the scintillating snow, momentarily lost in reverie as he watched a gray rabbit huddle near the stone birdbath in their yard.

"Everything all right, Mr. Granger?" asked Cedric as he entered the kitchen with two empty mugs. He sat them on the counter next to the sink and looked patiently at Hermione's father.

"As well as can be expected, m'boy," the older man suspired while looking to the ceiling. He heard water running and knew his wife was preparing for a long soak in the tub, which meant that now was his chance to have a heart-to-heart with his daughter's friend. He turned away from the window and surveyed Cedric for a moment. "Candy cane?" he offered as he reached for the glass on the windowsill that contained red and white-striped peppermint sticks.

"Thank you," Diggory said as he accepted one of them and began picking at the plastic wrapper.

"So, Cedric... what are your plans?" Mr. Granger inquired as he turned his back to the window and rested against the cabinets.

"My plans, sir?"

"For my daughter?" Hermione's father supplied.

"For your daughter?" Cedric repeated, pausing in his attempt to unwrap the Christmas candy. "Well... to protect her, of course. I made her and the Headmaster of our academy a promise. I'll do my best to not let anything happen to her on my watch."

"I see," Mr. Granger whispered, nodding as he studied the matching patterns of his socks and loosened tie.

"She is a resilient and wonderful girl," Diggory added on a burst of quiet courage. He was sure that if they were to place the Sorting Hat on his head now, it would shout out that he belong in Gryffindor rather than his alma mater house of Hufflepuff. "I respect her and her bravery. Any other young woman her age would not quell their fears as well as she does during a time like this. She is light and beauty and... simply amazing. She has more heart and brilliance than any young lady I've known. I truly value her friendship more than anything else."

Mr. Granger smiled faintly as he continued to stare down at his feet. Had he been Cedric, he would have bungled up such a speech. In fact, he had done just that upon meeting his wife's father for the first time. So he knew that this young man standing next to him was dauntless and forward. He certainly was the honorable, upstanding person that his daughter had described him as. And in realizing that, Mr. Granger also came to the conclusion that Cedric was right for his cherished little Hermione. Cedric was someone deserving of his daughter and her time because of his good character.

As Mr. Granger stood admiring this fact, though, Cedric was inwardly sweating. Maybe he should not have commented on Hermione like he did. Her father knew that she was everything Cedric had said and more. He had basically just slipped a noose around his neck and now he was just waiting for Mr. Granger to yank the proverbial chair from under his feet. Then he would hang. He would dangle with humiliation and embarrassment and regret.

"Would you fancy a game of chess?" Mr. Granger spoke up finally, surprising Diggory. "I can't say that it is _nearly_ as interesting as the version you magical folk play, but it still takes the same brains and strategy."

"Ye-yes, sir," Cedric choked out quickly. "That sounds great."

"All right! Into the living room, then, son," the older man beamed, grabbing another candy cane and his cold mug of tea from the table as he paraded Cedric into the next room.

* * *

Hermione awoke with a start when she heard the sound of laughter drifting up from the living room. Someone was thundering up the stairs. Loud, obnoxious shouts and taunts followed as two young boys burst into her room and flipped on the light. She squinted against the sudden brightness and sat up in the bed, her pillow falling to the floor with a soft plumping noise. She slid out of bed slowly and retrieved it, tossing it back onto the bed as she looked around.

Noah, her cousin, and his friend, Daniel, were rolling out their sleeping bags and pillows while they laughed about some comic they had been reading in the car. They were planning to play a handheld video game together as Hermione began looking for the other male who should have been in her room.

She had been upstairs with Cedric when she had fallen asleep. She had been laying on her bed, writing a letter to Harry and Ron while he sat at her desk, trying to figure out a game with Muggle playing cards. He had spent nearly two hours trying to calm her and talking to the collie-Animagus about the turtledoves her stalker had sent her. Once the Auror changed shifts with the gray hare-Animagus, he had taken the offending birds to the Ministry upon his return. Then she had to explain to her parents what had happened when they had gotten home.

She had no idea how she would have faired if Cedric had not been there. He had filled in bits of the events when she became too overwhelmed to speak. He had been so polite and patient with them when she felt like she was reaching her wit's end. She was so grateful that he had been there, but she could not figure out where he was now.

She left the room, rubbing sleep from her eyes and yawning as she jogged down the stairs to the living room. Her father was chattering away to his sister and her husband, excusing his wife, who had also retired for the night. Hermione peered around and that was when she spotted her companion.

He was sitting on his knees on the floor. Candy cane wrappers littered the coffee table and floor around him. A chess set was sitting before him, the pieces scattered strategically here and there on the board as though someone were in the middle of a game. Two partially empty mugs of cocoa sat beside the board along with some spoons and a small bowl of marshmallows.

"And there's my favorite niece!" Hermione's aunt half squealed as she sat her purse down on the floor and walked towards her with arms outstretched. She enveloped Hermione in a hug, squeezing her way too tight against her bony figure as she whispered into Hermione's hair. "Your boyfriend is so charming and so cute, too!"

"He's just a friend," Hermione muttered as her aunt pulled away. She stole a glance in Cedric's direction and saw him smiling over his shoulder at her. "Let me get your bags," she offered a second later as blush broke out on her face. She needed a second to compose herself as a nervous feeling skittered through her body. She hoped that her family had not said anything embarrassing or out of turn while she had been snoozing in her room.

"Charles can get them," Hermione's aunt waved away, referring to her husband. "Besides," she added in hushed tones, "I don't want to keep you from your friend." She grinned broadly before giving Hermione a pat on the cheek and returning to her husband's side.

Hermione watched as the older woman coaxed Mr. Granger and Charles up the stairs to the guest room so they could settle in. As she watched them go, her aunt gave a wink and began whispering to Hermione's father.

"Your dad is quite the chess champion," Cedric said from his seat on the floor.

"Hmm?" Hermione turned and gazed confusedly at him as he stood up and began gathering the dishes on the coffee table. "Oh, yes... He plays with Harry and Ron whenever he gets the chance. He really loves the game."

"He said he was on a team when he was in... primary? What's that?"

"It's a level of school for Muggle children. That's where they start their education. They begin schooling there at age five, sometimes four," Hermione elaborated.

"So early?" Cedric quizzed. "When do they finish?"

"Eighteen... sometimes later if they attend university," she explained. "My dad was on a team then, too. He had all sorts of trophies for it, but Mum made him pack them away in the attic."

"Why, in the name of Merlin, do they go to school for so long?" Cedric asked in astonishment as he headed for the kitchen, his arms loaded with dishes and plastic wrappings.

"It's not really like Hogwarts," Hermione replied. "They learn completely different subjects like science and mathematics and grammar."

"Sounds dreadful," he commented with a slight shudder. "I liked Hogwarts, but I couldn't imagine attending for thirteen years instead of just seven."

"Hogwarts definitely was better," she laughed, following him as he entered the kitchen.

He began throwing away the candy papers before depositing the mugs in the sink. He turned on the tap, rinsing away the leftover cocoa as silence fell over them. He could hear her fidgeting behind him with something on the table, probably the place mats.

"You don't have to do that," she informed politely. "I would have cleaned it up for you."

"Just because I'm a guest here doesn't give me liberty to leave behind a wreck wherever I go," he joked.

She smiled stiffly and then fingered the poinsettia centerpiece on the table. She hated the silence between them because it was awkward. She felt as though she were standing on stage, trying unsuccessfully to entertain him.

"So... what did you and my father talk about?"

Now it was his turn to sweat. Should he tell her about their conversation pertaining to her? Should he divulge what he had said about her? Would her father tell her if he did not? Would it even matter to her? How would she take it?

"We, uh... we talked about a little of this and a little of that. Chess and whatnot. Sort of touched on..." What was he supposed to say? "Everything," he finished, the last word sounding more like a surrender than the careless thought he wanted it to. But that was not to say that he lied while being so vague. They had talked about everything; Mr. Granger's everything, someone who Cedric thought was everything.

"Like what?" Hermione prompted, walking over to where he stood at the window. She grabbed the last candy cane and picked nonchalantly at the plastic encasing it as she waited for his answer. The silence was deafening, and as a clock chimed midnight in the living room, Hermione busied herself with listening for her family upstairs. She did not want to think about how long it was taking him to answer, so she concentrated on thinking of what tomorrow might hold for them in the way of celebrations. She put the candy cane to her mouth and watched him turn off the tap before putting the dishes in the drainer.

He glanced at her from the corner of his eye and found himself thinking the most bizarre thought: He wanted nothing more than to be the candy cane in her hand. He wanted to touch her lips the way the peppermint stick did as it rested in her mouth. He wanted to leave traces of himself, like his taste and his mark, on her the way the red stripes left a tint on her tongue and lips. He desired seeing comfort and content in her eyes as she brought her lips to his skin the same way she brought the candy to her mouth. He imagined her wanting him the same way she wanted that delectable treat. But could she ever touch her mouth upon him, upon his mouth, as naturally as she ate the candy?

He quickly averted his eyes to the window and swallowed hard against his dry throat. That was when he saw it. An owl waited on the banister of the back porch. Its reflective yellow eyes gazing upon him so serenely as the gray rabbit in the yard bounded forward towards the steps.

"Wait here," Cedric whispered distractedly as he stepped around Hermione and opened the back door.

"What is it?" she questioned as she followed him to the door, not obeying his orders. She was just in time to see the hare change form.

"Stay back," ordered the Auror as he approached the owl with caution. He pulled out his wand, and Cedric followed suit.

"Careful," Hermione caveated. "Neither my neighbors nor my family can see you preforming magic. The only ones who know legally about me being a witch are my parents."

The Auror nodded as Cedric stood guard with her, his wand trained on the bag. The Auror took another slow, steady step and reached out for the bag. He raised his wand and aimed it at the burlap sack, which was stained with something dark. The owl shook restively and blinked watchfully at them before sticking out its leg. With a swish of his wand, the Auror magically untied the bag and tried to catch it, but he was mere seconds too late.

The sack hit the floor, startling the owl, which screeched loudly and took flight with a flourish of its wings. Hermione gasped and gripped Cedric's arm as the head of a hen came rolling out of the burlap bag.

"Stand back," the Animagus Auror commanded. He glanced around to ensure that they were unseen and then tapped the air with his wand. The head rolled back into the bag, which levitated into the air. "I need to get this to the Ministry immediately."

"Go," Cedric agreed. "I'll keep watch here," he vowed.

"I'll be back as soon as possible," the Auror promised before disappearing with an echoing crack.

"C'mon," Cedric muttered, putting a hand on the small of Hermione's back. "Get back inside."

She did not protest or try to resist his coaxing. Instead, she drew into herself. Her face went pale and her breathing shallow. She entered the kitchen and kept going, straight into the living room. He followed, his sight never leaving her slumped figure.

"Why me?" she whispered, barely able to keep her voice from cracking. She dropped onto the couch and drew her knees up to her chin. She hugged her legs and stared at the floor as he came around the sofa and sat down next to her. "Why me?" she asked again, still just as silently.

"I don't know," he replied in modest.

"I never did anything to anyone for them to want to hurt me like this," Hermione shuddered, feeling tears well.

"I know," he cooed, hoping her tears would not fall. He hated to see her cry; it pained him and made him feel useless. He scooted closer and wrapped an arm around her, pulling her against his chest. She did not move into his embrace, nor did she reject it. She just continued to hold her thighs against her chest and tremble ever so slightly.

When her tears finally did fall, he felt them soak into his clothes. It was like those small droplets were a trigger, which switched on his anger. If he ever found who was doing this to her, he would surely do something way out of his character. He would harm them as they had harmed her; he would maim and curse them. He would make them feel the hurt and hopelessness that she was suffering. He just prayed that she could hold out long enough for him to find this person.

* * *

As the days drifted by into night like snow to the ground, more ghastly and macabre presents arrived. Each brought a fresh wave of unsettling terror and trouble and left Hermione and Cedric pondering what the next day would bring.

After the hen heads, four calling banshees had been sent. The Ministry had been highly upset about this because it had cost them a great deal of damage control.

One of Hermione's Muggle neighbors had heard the wailing of the four ghost-like women and came running to see what was happening. He had figured that there was a break-in and that Hermione and her mother were the ones crying out.

As Hermione and Cedric had worked to cast a protecting barrier of sound over her home and all those around it, the Auror had battled the black-haired quartet. When the unsuspecting Muggle had come close enough, the banshees screams had rendered him motionless. As he stood, hands clasped over his ears and crying out for silence, his ears had begun to bleed. Sensing his impending death, three of the four green-faced creatures floated in a circle around him. The Auror had tried his best to get to the dying man, but the fourth skeletal woman had kept him occupied.

Hermione's screams had entered the mix of high-pitched wails as she dashed off her back porch and ran for her neighbor. She had cast every spell she could think of at the dark triplets, but it only sent them away momentarily. Banishing Charms, Babbling Curses, Blasting Charms, and even a Boggart spell could not stop the lamenting ladies. It was only when Cedric came chasing after Hermione that he cast a Freezing Charm, which locked the ghost-like beasts in place. Hermione had then set to work on transfiguring each into a tiny sparrow, which fell—still frozen—into the snow.

Once all four of the banshees had been stopped, the Auror gathered them and rushed off to call for Ministry help. When he had returned with four other Aurors and the Minister himself, they found Hermione kneeling in the snow beside her Muggle neighbor. His eyes were tinged red with blood and his ears seeped with the same thick, dark liquid, which stained the snow that he was lying in. He babbled incoherently as Hermione sat holding his hand, her tears practically freezing to her face.

The Minister made Cedric take Hermione back to the house, where they were both administered some Sleeping Potion. The watch on her house had been doubled from that day forward and the memories of each of Hermione's neighbors and family members—whether they had been awake or not—had been rendered to exclude the events and sounds of that night. As for the dying Muggle in the snow, he had been transported to St. Mungo's, which had really caused a stir.

Healers had worked tirelessly on stopping the internal bleeding, but in the end, the heart attack he had from shock was just too much. The man had died during their administrations, and despite their attempts to save him, there was no bringing him back. So the Ministry staged a break-in to the Muggle's home. They had made it appear that he was the victim of a ruthless robber.

When the headlines had hit the front page of every newspaper near their area, Hermione had felt herself grow ill. She thought of her neighbor's grandchildren and elderly wife and had felt her stomach roil as a result. She had felt such remorse that she had a hard time keeping her composure in front of her family. Her parents tried to make the excuse to her aunt and her family that the closeness of the incident was what upset their daughter, but when Mr. and Mrs. Granger had been alone their excuse was different.

Hermione had heard them make the connection. They had said to each other that it had been Hermione's stalker that broke into their neighbor's home, mistaking it for their house. The worry that they expressed while she eavesdropped had made her feel even more disgusted and sick, so she had retreated to her room with Cedric for the remainder of the day.

When midnight came later that night, another package arrived. Five cursed golden rings had been inside the envelope the owl left. They had been like magnets to her fingers when she opened the parcel, and when they attached themselves, they began shrinking and burning her flesh. She had rushed to the bathroom to immerse her hands in cold water as Cedric called for the Auror to bring some Ministry Curse-Breakers.

Upon their arrival, they came through her bedroom window and entered the bathroom where she sat weeping and prying at the rings. Five seconds was all it took for the Curse-Breaker to remove the hexed jewelry, but the marks that they left were hideous. Five of Hermione's fingers were left with red burns and deep cuts, which the Curse-Breaker had left a sweet-smelling salve for. However, despite the enticing scent of the medication, it burnt her even more when she applied it.

She remained in pain for three more days as each new gift continued to arrive at midnight.

Six Ashwinders came after the five rings. Each snake had been delivered to her back porch in quick succession. They had slithered skillfully from their boxes and began laying their eggs near the back door. The two Aurors on guard had froze and gathered the eggs just before a blaze from them could break out.

The next gift bear seven black stones, which had exploded when the box was opened. From the stones rose a putrid, foul, dark smoke that took on the form of a spectral dog. Seven omens of death from the Grim, all aimed at Hermione.

On the eighth night, sixteen owls flew in with eight potted plants. When the owls released the clay jars that held the leafy flora, they crashed to the ground and broke violently. But it was not the shattering of the pots that caused such a commotion, but the howling of Mandrakes that filled the air as they rolled about in the snow. In a panic, one Auror had surged forward to silence the crying plants, but dropped instantly to the ground in an unconscious state. It had taken petrification and more Memory Charms to cover the incident.

Now, Hermione sat in her bed, watching out the window as snow fell steadily. She feared the next twenty four hours. Would they be her last? The gifts were certainly predicting her death.


	24. Snowy Hearts

**A/N:** I've had a few family crisis moments recently that have kept me from writing. Believe me when I say that I really do miss it, even through the battles with writer's block. I can't say that the next couple of updates will come immediately after this, but I'm going to try to get back into working on this fic so that I can get it finished for you all. You've each been immensely and unbelievably patient with me, and I thank you all for it. I could not ask for better readers and reviewers, so I want to give you the ending that you've been waiting for. But first--as per usual--the many thanks that I have to pass out to those who go the extra mile and let me know what you think about the chapters.

Thank you to: _pottersgirl91_ (I owe you a letter, and believe me, it's coming soon), _Idle Writer of Crack_ (you've got the biggest thank you of this chapter because of the inspiration that you've given me in the previous chapter and in this one as well, not to mention future ones. I'm envious of your brains and of your patience and forgiveness since I forgot to give you extra commendation in the last chapter like I said I would), _Tecsumseh Dean, Dramione-Fan 17, Rin1507, lucyferr, ForeverBlue90, Elliesmeow, ChamberlinofMusic, Rachelli, Lizzy Evans, Cribellate, _and _CT1994._

**

* * *

Chapter 24 – Snowy Hearts**

He sat humming to himself as he polished off a plate of Lancashire Hotpot. His new house-elf was quite the cook, but as much as the meal had pleased him, it gave him greater delight to see the creature punish itself.

"Elf!" he screamed at the top of his lungs as he flicked his discarded, golden fork across the table.

With a tiny popping sound, the house-elf appeared and dropped to its knees, hunching over in a hurried bow of worship. Its spine was protruding in a starved-looking way as it shook and awaited Roden's orders.

"Yes, M-Master?" squeaked the elf in a muffled voice as it spoke into the carpet.

"The potatoes were undercooked and the meat was too tough," he drawled lazily as he propped his feet up onto the table, knocking over a glass. Wine sloshed across the table and the house-elf scrambled to begin soaking it up.

"Would M-Master like m-me to make a new m-meal?"

"No," he replied shortly as he inspected his grimy nails. "Did I tell you that you could stop bowing to me?" he quizzed a second later.

"But the glass sp-spilled, s-sir," the elf protested meekly, pausing with a stained rag in its hand.

"Speaking out of turn, too," Roden muttered disapprovingly with a faineant shake of his head. "You have been terribly out of line lately, Elf."

"Hermes is sorry, sir," the elf apologized as wine dripped onto the floor.

"You've stained my uncle's carpet," Avery growled. "And your name is not _Hermes_! Filthy little pests like you are meant to serve great wizards like me! You are not important enough to have a name! Now punish yourself for your insolence!" he roared, slamming his feet to the floor and pounding his fist on the table, making the dishes rattle.

The house-elf jumped and then moved stiffly towards the fire. Tears were evident in his scared blue eyes. Reluctance lingered on every move as he stuck out his hand and grabbed hot coals from the fire. The sound of searing flesh bubbled into the air as Roden watched with glee-filled eyes. A scream tore from the elf's lips as he threw the coals back into the fire and began shaking his hands fervently.

"Now," Roden sighed in satisfaction as he pushed to his feet, "after you clean up this mess, I expect you to bring me my cloak and the gift I have for the Grangers."

The elf shuddered visibly. He had been made to make the nine chocolates that Roden was to deliver, and he knew that each was an invariable, deadly treat sealed inside of a delightful-looking melt-away chocolate.

"Y-yes, M-Master," the elf obeyed as it shuffled towards the table and began picking up dishes to take back to the kitchen.

"Oh, and one more thing," Roden drawled as he paused in the doorway of the dining room. He picked uncaringly at the wooden door frame before tossing a half-hearted glance over his shoulder. "If I've told you once, I've told you twice, your stupid stammering annoys me greatly. Punish yourself after I leave tonight by cutting off a toe."

The elf blanched at the thought, but nodded slowly in obedient defeat.

* * *

"C'mon, Hermione!" Noah whined as he leaned on the back of the couch where she sat, trying to read.

Cedric sat on the floor near the fireplace, a marshmallow on a long fork and a plate of graham crackers and chocolate beside him. He looked over at Hermione, who was obviously growing impatient with her cousin's barrage of pleas. He and his friend, Daniel, had been begging Hermione to come outside and play for the past half hour.

"Just one hour," Noah insisted. "One good snowball fight, and we'll bugger off... We're bored."

"Go ask my dad," Hermione growled as she closed her book and rose from the sofa. "He loves playing with you and Daniel."

"Uncle and Dad are going into town for more groceries."

"Go with them, then," Hermione suggested as she came around the coffee table and kneeled down next to Cedric. She grabbed a cracker and some chocolate from the plate, stacking them neatly. Diggory smiled at her and handed over the marshmallow he had on his fork.

"What fun would it be to go grocery shopping?" Noah complained as he picked at one of the stockings lining the fireplace mantle.

"Please, Hermione?" Daniel joined in from his seat on the steps. He peered past the garland that wound its way up the banister and gave one of his best sad faces.

"I think some fresh air would be beneficial," Cedric interjected with a casual thoughtfulness as he stuck another marshmallow onto his fork. He had noticed that Hermione was closing her eyes in frustration now and that her jaw was twitching with the effort to keep it clenched shut. "What d'you say, Hermione? Us against them?"

She studied him as she began nibbling on her s'more. He was up to something; she could see it in his enchanting eyes. The way they reflected the firelight, even in the afternoon, winter sun, was amazingly alluring. But behind that allure, she was sure the wheels were turning. She had no doubt that she could spend the rest of the day just sitting there by the warmth of a hearth, staring endlessly into his content gaze. However, she needed to remain on guard; she would not let these boys hassle her into something ridiculous.

"Fine," she conceded, nullifying her previous thought as she laid her half-eaten s'more on the plate. "Get ready," she commanded in mild defeat before rising to her feet and following the two excited teenagers up the stairs to her room.

Minutes later, they were outside with some of Mrs. Granger's tupperware containers, packing them with snow. As Hermione filled each container, Cedric built the wall to their fort. And it was then that she realized his true scheme. It had not been to placate the boys or to avoid a row between her and her cousin. He was trying to give her something constructive to occupy her time.

She paused in her snow-packing efforts and gazed at him thoughtfully. He was more caring than he needed to be. She was nothing more than a friend to him and yet he put himself in harm's way each and every night to keep her safe and sane. His gestures made her feel more than just a companion-like fondness for him. In fact, his special treatment of her had started to work on her heart. Of course, she was trying to deny that.

Hermione knew that getting romantically involved would end up being a one-sided thing. He had only feelings of friendship for her, so it would not do for her to let her heart run ahead of her better judgment. She needed to keep composure. Nonetheless, as she sat in the snow next to him, she felt a sort of tugging just under her breast. She wanted to reach out, to throw her arms around his neck, and never let go. As she imagined it, she smiled cordially.

"What is it?" Diggory asked in amusement when he looked up from his half-built wall to see her looking at him so.

"Nothing," she grinned, all the while thinking how grateful she was to wake up each morning and go downstairs to see him on their living room couch. Even if she could never express her true feelings to him, she would relish what they did have between them.

"Nothing?" Cedric repeated, sounding unconvinced but still cheerful. "You wouldn't look like that if it were really nothing, so what is it?" he pressed, placing his hands atop hers as she packed snow into the square container.

Hermione's eyes lifted to meet his, the same light and joyous expression on her face. When she caught a glimpse of the smile he had in return, she felt her own smirk grow larger. In response, one of his gloved hands left hers and grabbed her wrist. He pulled gently, bringing her ever closer. Their faces were only a foot apart when a snowball came hurtling through the air and hit Hermione roughly in the side of the head. She toppled to the ground, sprawling on her side as she blinked snow from her lashes. Cedric gaped at her as she shook more white particles from her hair and sat up. She glared over at her cousin as he and Daniel sat finishing their fort, both sporting cheshire grins.

"All right?" Cedric inquired as she grabbed the tupperware packed with snow and flipped it over on their wall.

"Fine," she muttered defectively as she continued to compact snow to make bricks. "It was only a snowball."

Disregarding her last statement seemed to be the right thing to do. Cedric frowned as he saw a red spot breaking out on her temple where the projectile had hit.

"You're sure?" he questioned cautiously as she continued to slave fervently to finish the fort wall. He had a gut feeling that she was anything but okay.

"I'm mint, really," she lied as she continued to work.

He shrugged and dug in to help. All the while, he watched her from the corner of his eye, half expecting to see stars dancing merrily about her head.

When they had finished building their defenses, Hermione tossed aside the container she had been using and started to make snowballs. She began piling them up until she had a pyramid of at least thirty. Then, with a quick glance at Noah across the yard, she sneakily pulled out her wand.

"What are you doing? You can't use magic in front of them," Diggory protested, reaching for her hand. She ignored him, though, and pulled her arm away before giving a shwish and a flick. Wind swirled around the pile of ammo and each ball seemed to glisten more than the regular snow around them did. "What did you do?" Cedric barked in a low tone as he leaned closer to her.

"Just something I learned from the Weasley twins one Christmas," she shrugged as she picked up the topmost snowball and held it firmly in her hand.

"That makes me feel loads better," he scoffed in a chastising voice. "This is only supposed to be a game."

"And it will be," Hermione beamed in mock innocence. "It's just that I won't miss." He narrowed his eyes on her as she grabbed yet another snowball and called the ready to her cousin. "You better grab a snowball," she informed as the two boys across the way hunkered down and put on their war faces.

Cedric sighed and turned to grab his own ammo, but something was strange about the pile. He had seen Hermione pick up two; however, none were missing from atop the pyramid. He glanced back over to her and saw that she still had the same two snowballs. She had not only made it so that their balls would not miss their targets, she had crossed a Conjuring Charm with a Refilling Charm so that their pile would continuously create ammo out of thin air.

"That's cheating," he hissed as he grabbed two white orbs and scooted closer to the wall.

"Not according to George, it's not," she stated in a matter-of-fact fashion. "Besides, do you really think that they will play fair?" Here she nodded towards their opponents. "They'll try to overtake our fort and do so by any means possible, so you had better be ready." As she said this, a snowball flew through the air between them and smashed into one of the bushes behind their fort.

Cedric blinked at it before realizing that these teenaged boys were going to be truly savage about this. Hermione lobbed her two snowballs at once. They wobbled through the air before curving around the fort and finding their targets. Noah and Daniel peered up over the front of their barrier, both with faces covered in snow. Their glares were devious and their intent obvious: This was war.

* * *

"Noah! Daniel! It's time to come in!" Hermione's aunt yelled from the back porch. "We've got soup and warm drinks for you!" The two boys immediately abandoned their fort, which had been pretty much demolished by Hermione and Cedric's snowballs, before racing across the yard, kicking white, powdery snow at one another.

"Hermione! Cedric! You two come in as well," Mrs. Granger bellowed across the yard from the back door. She removed her oven mitts and smiled as Diggory helped her daughter up out of the snow.

Hermione brushed away the icy, compacted whiteness that clung to her clothes as Cedric loosened his scarf. They followed the laughing, horse-playing boys across the yard, basking in the glow of their victory over the two teens. Their gaits were triumphant, and they relived each second by commending one another on a job well done. They were almost to the porch when Cedric, caught up in his dizzying enjoyment, grabbed Hermione around the waist and spun her about. She let out a squealing gasp as they toppled back into the snow at the bottom of the steps, chortling merrily when they looked at one another.

"He's just as weird as her," Noah commented to his friend, who was ogling Diggory with perturbing disgust, as they thundered up onto the porch and kicked off their shoes.

Hermione frowned and sat up slowly. She could not bring herself to look Cedric in the eyes now, even though she knew she needed to apologize on Noah's behalf. He had always said things about her being strange, but she had ignored them because she knew that they were connected to magic, and he did not understand that. When Hermione made things happen that just could not be explained logically, Noah had called her odd and acted as though she were suspicious. But now, to hear such a statement, hurt her deeply because it was not only aimed at her.

"I'm sorry," she muttered, the wind carrying over her words and muffling them more.

"It's fine," Cedric shrugged carelessly. Noah's ill-mannered accusations had not bothered him in the least. In Cedric's opinion, he was just being a sore loser.

"No, it's not. That was uncalled for," she insisted, still not meeting his gaze as he clambered up out of the snow. He held out his hand to her and beamed down with heart-bursting affection. She really was sweeter and kinder than any girl he had cared to know before. She was so proper at times, never forgiving the smallest of slips, but it made her all the more endearing.

"C'mon," he said, still offering her a hand up.

She peered up from under her brow, her gaze as innocent as they day was cold. He almost chuckled to see her looking so child-like and impeccant. Despite her virtue and propriety, he had a feeling that there was a much more devious side to her. In fact, he had saw it during the snowball fight, and it had only made him more lovesome of her.

At the same time, Hermione felt her heart melting to see him looking down on her like that. She could almost feel his eyes pushing their warmheartedness into her bones. She stuck out her hand, grabbing his, and letting him lift her to her feet. When she tried to release, however, he held fast.

His gloved fingers kept a firm hold on hers as he reached his other hand up to her hair. He brushed snow from her frizzy, flyaway locks before letting his gauntleted fingertips caress her cheek. Confusion stirred in her. It was no matter that she had growing feelings for him; they were just friends, and friends did not find themselves in situations like this.

When her eyes narrowed, he knew he needed to explain his actions. Even so, he could not bring himself to speak. His mouth was dry and his tongue was nearly numb, so he did the only thing that he could think to do. Diggory leaned down quickly, pausing as Hermione's hair brushed his forehead. He saw out of the corner of his eyes that her own eyes went wide with surprise. He pressed his lips to her cheek, his bottom lip barely touching the corner of her mouth.

A satisfaction like no other shivered to life under his ribs. There was joy and relief dancing together in a fast-paced waltz through his blood as it coursed and pulsed from his heart to his fingers and toes and back to his heart again. His brain fizzled and fought for sense, for some snippet of grounding awareness, but the mirth he was feeling was too great of an opponent. He was sure that he could have walked on air, which was a feeling that he had had few times in his life.

Once was when he had joined the Hufflepuff Quidditch team as Seeker. Then when he had been announced as a champion for Hogwarts during the Triward Tournament. Third had been when Cho Chang had said yes to being his girlfriend. And fourth was when he had received his first kiss from Cho at the end of the Yule Ball. Those had been defining moments in his life. They had been moments of acceptance that he wanted badly. They had been firsts that he had never experienced anything like before. Yet this moment, as he stood there in the snow and chill with Hermione, was better than all of them combined.

There was nothing extraordinary about it; at least, not in setting. They were just in her back yard, covered in snow, and shivering under all their layers of bulky clothing. And there was certainly nothing marked about the day. It was just another December afternoon with lots of wind and anticipation for Christmastime. Nevertheless, it was amazing and perfect in its own fantastical way. It was a lot like having Christmas come early; he had finally got to do something he had been thinking about for days.

When he at last pulled away, she was gaping slightly and her hand had gone lax in his. Awkwardness instantly rushed into place along with the biting wind, and he fumbled for something to say. She beat him to the punch, though.

"What... what was that for?" she uttered incoherently, her brow furrowed and her eyes still glazed with discombobulation.

Cedric's jaw flexed as his mouth opened and closed and opened again, but the words would not flow as they normally did. His brain was still sitting uselessly in his skull, awaiting the moment it could take control again over the wooziness of his blissful—and now panicked—state. Hermione's father saved him further embarrassment, though, as he opened the back door and called for them again.

"Your mother is going to be in quite the tizzy if you don't get in here," he chuckled, a knowing grin spreading from cheek to cheek.

Hermione nodded quickly and pulled her hand from Cedric's before ascending the five stairs up to the back porch. She kicked off her shoes, barely noticing the snow seeping into her socks as she stood on the doormat and yanked off her gloves. She just could not believe that Cedric had kissed her, even if it had only been a peck on the cheek. Why did he do it? What did that mean for their friendship? Harry and Ron had never just kissed her for the fun of it, so she was not sure how she should have reacted to it, and that was going to make sitting through dinner a real blast.

* * *

The screams of his house-elf echoed out into the night as he opened the front door and trudged out into the snow, a pleased smirk upon his thin face. He was surprised that the elf had not passed out in the effort of cutting off its own toe. Then again, dumb creatures like that were meant to obey great wizards like himself, so the magic over them would probably ensure that they carried out their orders before succumbing to bodily defeat. Of course, if he kept up the treatment he was currently exercising on this elf, it would most definitely be dead within the month.

_No matter_, he thought as he bowed his head against the snow. He knew he would just get a new one, or better yet, he would speed up his plans to kidnap Hermione Granger and force her to serve him. He could just envision the internal conflict in her brown eyes as she was magically influenced to do his bidding against her will. It would be a sweet, delicious sort of appetizer before he sentenced her to the main course, which was to be her death.

Roden reached the boundary lines of his uncle's estate and looked back at the house. He stood upon the road, snow falling like large, white confetti around him. Tonight, Hermione Granger would feel the pain and anguish that he had felt for months.

With that final thought, he disappeared in Apparation, bound for Crawley and the Granger home.

* * *

"Can't we open just one present? We're bored! It's almost Christmas anyways!" Noah argued with his mother as she sat on the couch with Mrs. Granger, stringing popcorn and cranberries onto a wire.

"There is still five days until Christmas, Noah," Hermione's aunt reminded calmly. "You know that the only time you get a gift early is Christmas Eve."

"Mother, that was before, when I actually believed in Father Christmas," her son grumbled. "C'mon! We're bored!"

"Then go into the kitchen and get the chestnuts. You and Daniel can start roasting them on the fire."

"That's stupid!" the teen groaned.

Over his pestering, caroling could be heard. Hermione perked from her seat on the floor. She abandoned her game of Scrabble with Cedric and jumped up. She grabbed his hand, pulling him along to the front door.

"Put your coat and gloves on!" Mrs. Granger commanded as Hermione threw open the door.

Cedric snatched their jackets quickly from the closet beside the front door and followed her out onto the porch. He draped the garment around her shoulders and held out his hand, intent on taking hers into it. She obliged after shoving her arms through the coat and pulling on her gloves and boots, feeling only slightly awkward as he led her down the front walk to where the choir stood singing. A black and white collie came trotting around the front of the house after them and plunked down into the snow a few feet away, his eyes affixed on the pair.

As Hermione stood listening to "Silent Night," her feet quickly becoming like ice in her untied snow boots, she felt a strange nausea roll through her. Cedric was still clutching her hand in his, complacently offering his attention to the singers before them. He had acted so casually all day, as though the kiss he had given her was nothing. Did he frequently kiss his female friends on the cheek? Was it a normal thing for him?

She returned her attention to the carolers, deciding that it would be best for her to act as though nothing had happened, too. She needed to forget this. Things were not as they normally should have been because everyone was under a lot of stress and feeling unlike themselves. It was very probable that he was taking his self-appointed protection duties too far and had not truly meant anything by the kiss.

She glanced at him out of the corner of her eye as they began to sing a melodious rendition of "Deck the Halls." Some inner jealousy stood resenting the idea of forgetting the kiss. It pleaded with her to grab his collar and pull him down for another kiss, a proper kiss. There was a lingering itch digging at her soul, demanding that she act upon her impulsive urges and show him how she truly felt. But she quelled those exigent inner voices and heaved a sigh instead.

He mistook her sigh for a shiver and released her hand to pull her into his side. Cedric kept his arm wrapped around her shoulder, holding her close in an attempt to keep her warm. And he did warm her, but not bodily. Her soul tingled and shimmered, shivering with the irresistible feeling of a heart on fire. He had no idea what he was truly doing to her, but she knew from this moment on, she would be guided blindly in any direction he shoved her.

It was in that instant, as they stood listening to Christmas carols sung by strangers, that she realized the depth of her affection for him. She gave up fighting her heart; it would always win because it was the part of her that really had the most strength, whether anyone knew it or not. There was just no being logical with something so irrational. The only thing she could do was figuratively buckle up and await the heartbreak that would surely come because he could never return her feelings.

"Chestnuts roasting on an open fire," the choir chimed in sweet harmony, starting another of their songs as more of Hermione's family and neighbors came out to listen.

Cedric squeezed her shoulder and then rubbed it vigorously as her aunt yelled at Noah and Daniel for being unruly. Hermione tried to focus on the songs, but in the back of her head, she could not help but hope that this would be a glimpse of Christmases to come. She wanted to return to her family's house next year and stand just like she was now, surrounded by love and joy, with Cedric clinging to her side.

But, to her, those were foolish hopes, no matter how much she wanted them. She would just have to immortalize this moment in her head because it would be the best Christmas she ever had, even if she was receiving horrendous gifts every night. She had to find light in the situation if she was going to make it through this, and right now, her light was Cedric.

* * *

Roden stood down the street, his eyes affixed on Hermione as everyone in the neighborhood stood humming along or swaying with the carolers' tune. He clutched the chocolates in their shiny green box with their bright, red bow as he felt irritation wash through his limbs. After all he had done, she still looked so content. How could she remain so calm and complacent when he sent her nightly disturbances?

Roden's eyes glanced from the source of his ire to the man beside her, if that was what anyone could truly call him. The too tall, somewhat lanky son of Amos Diggory. Avery then figured that he must be her source of strength.

"Let's just see how much strength you give her tonight when she's choking on poisoned chocolates," Roden muttered to himself as he turned away from the sickeningly joyful scene.

He tramped up between two of the neighboring houses and jogged along behind the buildings. When he came to the Granger's backyard, he scanned the area. There was no sign of anyone waiting in there and no whisper of anyone coming to stop him as he stepped up to the porch. With quiet, slick motions, he ascended the stairs and grabbed the backdoor handle. It burnt his hand, so he retracted his grip quickly, thanking whatever divine force there was that he had put gloves on.

Looking around, he frowned. How was he supposed to get the deadly gift in now?

Gritting his teeth, he was about to turn and find another way around the house, but then he saw the partially open kitchen window. He slunk forward, peering inside. A pie and a fruitcake sat on the kitchen counter, cooling on their thick, glass serving pedestals.

Roden whipped out his wand and levitated Hermione's parcel into the air. He shoved the box and bow under the window and floated it over to the table. There it dropped with a euphonious thump, awaiting to be discovered by the Granger family and their guests.

Roden slipped back then, retreating to the woods before pausing to look back at the house. He could still hear the choir singing their carols, but only faintly. Their voices were growing more and more quiet, which meant they were probably getting farther away. As if in confirmation of this thought, Mrs. Granger appeared in the window with Hermione's aunt and cousin, who received a swat on the hand for trying to touch the goodies on the counter.

Noah turned and dashed to the table, picking up the package and shaking it. He read the card attached and called out to Hermione, begging for her to let him have some of the candy inside.

Avery grinned balefully as he stepped further back into the shadows. A dead, fallen branch cracked loudly under his foot and caught the attention of the collie dog that was sitting like a sentinel near the corner of the house. In an act of alertness, the dog stood quickly with a stiff back and attentive ears flicking for the source of the sound.

With a snort of amusement, Roden cocked his head to the side and drew out his wand. He aimed it at the collie, who seemed to abruptly notice the tracks in the snow that lead into the tangle of barren trees and gnarled, grabbing branches. With a growl, the dog launched itself across the yard, bounding forward with leaps of bursting energy as it barked ferociously.

Red light burst out of the woods and caught the Animagus unawares. Issuing a loud, pained yelp, the collie was knocked off its four paws and landed in the snow as a mass of breathless black and white fur. Righting itself as quickly as possible, the dog stood shakily and tried to resume its attack.

A shattering sort of pop egressed from the darkened trees, signaling someone's Disapparation, just as the Animagus Auror broke into the area. Head whipping back and forth, he sniffed the air and hoped unprofitably for a clue or some forgotten hint, but there was none to be found.

Side throbbing in anguish, the collie did an about face and charged back toward the house, letting out a warning howl as it went. Even if he had been too late to stop and capture the assailant, he hoped he was not too late to stop whatever plot that the attacker had put into motion.


	25. Death's Door

**A/N:** Well, I definitely didn't get half of the things that I wanted to packed into this chapter, but as I said in my profile update, that just makes writing chapter twenty-six easier. In fact, I don't want to jinx myself, but I've gotten three pages written on that one already. I only took a small break to post this one because I have a feeling that I'm going to be done with twenty-six in a week or so. As always, hopefully... In the meantime, keep a watch out of my profile for any updates pertaining to both my writing and personal life. That said, I'm going to give my thanks and leave you to read while I hash out the rest of the next chapter.

Thanks to: _pottersgirl91 _(eight pages of a letter and still going, lol), _Idle Writer of Crack_ (your genius influence still persists in this chapter), _Dramione-Fan 17, Lizzy Evans, Elliesmeow, Mary-La, EZRocksAngel, _and _Tecumseh Dean _(as in Indian chief Tecumseh or no?).

* * *

**Chapter 25 – Death's Door**

"Hermione! Hermione!" Noah bellowed as he thundered up the stairs, taking some two at a time. He skid into his cousin's room as Daniel halted at the bottom of the staircase, gazing up with intent and pleading eyes in case Hermione would come out of her room. "Hermione! Can I have some candy, please?"

"She's in the restroom," Cedric informed from his perch on the edge of Hermione's bed.

Noah wheeled away and dashed down the corridor to the bathroom as a dog barked wildly outside. It was probably chasing a rabbit or frolicking in the snow, so Diggory ignored it as he flipped through an album of pictures from Hermione's childhood.

He was so absorbed in her early moments of life as he turned the page and grinned to himself. Hermione was standing next to her father at a park as ducks, who were frozen in partial flight or fights over bread crumbs, crowded around their feet and legs. She had been captured throwing bread into the air and grinning broadly, making it apparent—that even as a child—her heart was strong and courageous and daring. Her gorgeous brown eyes were large and questioning, displaying the same hunger for knowledge that still glittered in her brown depths.

Cedric found as he flipped the page again and continued to study Hermione's transition from infant to toddler to a child heading off to her first day of Muggle school that he liked Muggle photographs better than wizarding ones. The way that still photos captured a moment was even more enchanting than the mere idea that photographs could move in the wizarding world. To freeze a solitary act or smile was amazing and brilliant, and that made photography a great deal like magic itself, in fact. Sealing a piece of the heart and soul into a single shot with the click of a button and a flash was suddenly such an intense idea to him that he had trouble tearing his eyes away as the dog outside continued its crazed barking.

"Hermione! Can I please, please, _please_ have some of these chocolates?" Noah shouted as he banged on the door.

"What chocolates?" Hermione barked back, her voice muffled from inside the lavatory.

"Kids! Settle down some!" Hermione's aunt's voice echoed up from the kitchen, where the faint sound of shuffling cards and clinking glasses could be heard.

"They're in a green package with a red bow. I think that Dad and Uncle got them for you when they went to the store today!" Noah informed his cousin at the top of his voice, ignoring his mother's request.

"I suppose you can, then," Hermione gave in as she opened the door and came out of the bathroom.

"Thanks!" Noah grinned as he whipped around and began tearing the bow away. It dropped to the floor and the lid followed as he reached the top of the steps and popped a dark brown morsel into his mouth.

He chewed in pure delight, tasting caramel and crème and something else that was sweet, but he could not recognize. He sputtered then as he thought about it, feeling his throat itch and grow tight like something was squeezing it. He coughed again as Hermione peeked back out of her room and gave him a scolding glance.

"Chew your food, Noah," she chastised as he dropped the box, chocolates scattering about the hallway and down the stairs as he clutched at his throat. "Noah?" Hermione and Cedric came fully out of her room, alarm rising from the pit of Hermione's stomach. "Noah!" she gasped as her cousin began to turn crimson with exertion.

She rushed forward and grabbed the teenaged boy around the waist as his eyes rolled back into his head and his reddish color turned a more purple shade. He tottered heavily in her arms as foam and drool appeared at the corners of his mouth. Thinking quickly, Hermione did the only thing she knew to do, she began rescue movements to dislodge what he was choking on, but this did not seem to be the problem.

"Cough it up," she commanded in a grunt as she dropped heavily to the floor, unable to hold him up any longer.

Diggory tried to catch them, but he was seconds too late as her knee twisted awkwardly under not only her own weight, but that of her cousin's, too.

Downstairs, the back door opened and the dog barreled inside, running past everyone and into the living room.

"Kids! What did we say?" Mr. Granger bellowed as laughter followed his reminder. "And keep an eye on the dog!" he added as he closed the back door.

The adults were obviously oblivious to what was occurring on the second floor landing. They were mistaking the sounds for rough-housing and frivolity. It must have appeared to them as though the dog were merely trying to join in.

Back upstairs, Hermione tilted Noah's head to the side and pried his mouth open to prevent further choking. Cedric and Daniel squatted quickly down on the opposite side of her cousin, both showing signs of uncertainty.

The collie, who had burst through the living room and almost knocked over a vase, leaped up the stairs, stopping just short of plowing over Daniel to sniff a forgotten chocolate. His nose wrinkled, and he growled, drawing the attention of those nearby. They watched as the collie backed away and then shifted from animal to man. Daniel gasped and sputtered, but his astonishment was cut short by the gargling noises of his friend.

"Make him spit it out!" Daniel panicked, returning everyone's concern to Noah, whose tongue was swelling to four times its original size. His throat was mimicking a frog, appearing as though he were going to make a croaking noise at any moment.

"Oh gods!" Hermione whimpered as she leaned down to press her ear to Noah's chest, listening for a heartbeat.

"How many did he eat?" the newly shifted Auror demanded as he knelt at Noah's head.

"Just one," Hermione informed in a frightful manner as she clutched at her cousin's shirt collar, trying to keep it from further cutting off his air supply. "Ron had this same thing happen to him," Hermione muttered more to herself than anyone else. "Harry shoved something down his throat... Oh! What was it?" she cried as she fisted her hands in her hair and rocked back and forth, willing herself to remember.

"We need to call an ambulance," Daniel cut in.

"There's nothing Muggles can do for him," the Auror responded, not looking at Daniel.

"I just need a second to think," Hermione hushed them, racking her brain for an answer.

"We don't have a second!" Daniel protested angrily as he glared at his best friend's cousin through blurry eyes.

Cedric pulled out his wand then and aimed it at Noah's throat, only to be interrupted by Daniel.

"He's choking! You can't go prodding him with a stick, you sod!" the youth growled as he grabbed Diggory's sleeve and tried to jerk the wand away.

"Get off!" Cedric ordered, shoving Daniel so hard in the chest with his forearm that he almost knocked the teen backwards down the stairs. As the younger boy caught his balance, Diggory aimed at Noah once more and cast the only spell he could think might help. "_Anapneo!_"

Melted chocolate began running from Noah's mouth with the drool that poured from the corner of his lips; however, this did not seem to help. Hermione's cousin still convulsed on the floor and his eyes were still unfocused and staring up into his skull.

"Try reducing the swelling," the Auror suggested as he checked Noah for signs of what kind of poison could be affecting him.

"_Reducio!_" Cedric said sharply. When this did not work, he spat out another spell."_Episkey!_" Again, nothing. "_Finite Incantatum!_"

He had tried dislodging whatever was choking Noah, reducing the swelling, a Healing Charm, and a charm to stop whatever hex was causing the adverse reaction, but to no avail. The young boy's condition was not improving. And as if to prove this, Noah stopped moving entirely.

"Noah!" Hermione shrieked, startled by his lifelessness. "Noah!" she hissed again with urgency as Daniel sat wide-eyed and pale, tears flowing in slow motion over his white cheeks. His best friend was dying, and he had no idea what to do.

"Keep him stabilized while I contact the Ministry for help," the Auror ordered as he rose and backed away down the corridor and into the bathroom.

Hermione shook Noah, but he did not stir. She pressed her fingers to his wrist and throat, searching frantically for a pulse. At first, there appeared to be nothing, no beat or rhythm of pulsing blood. His face remained blue-tinged and his eyes were glassy and turning lifeless.

"No... no! He... he can't," she gasped as she turned his head and pressed his swollen cheeks between her palms. "Breathe, Noah. Do you hear me? Breathe! Laugh! Blink! Stop playing!"

She gripped his wrist again, trying to steady herself as she searched again for a pulse. Then she found it. A faint, barely-there sort of throb under the surface of his sallow skin. If the tempo of his slowing blood—which was at least four or five times slower than her own rapid pulse—was anything to go by, Hermione guessed that she only had a couple of minutes to get her cousin breathing again, or else he would surely expire.

"CPR," Daniel suggested hoarsely, his eyes never leaving Noah's motionless figure as his brain raced with the impossibility of what was occurring.

Hermione cautiously wiped at Noah's mouth, trying to remove all traces of chocolate and drool so as not to take on any of the poison infecting him. She pinched his nose shut and cupped his chin in her other hand. She covered his mouth entirely with her own and blew as hard as she could, trying to inflate his chest. Nonetheless, his cheeks only puffed a bit as the air stopped at his blocked throat.

Hermione put her hands together in the proper way, palm to the back of one hand and fingers laced. She located the end of his ribs and moved upward an inch or two. Placing the heel of her palm in that spot, she began pumping as she counted in her head, trying to keep his heart going.

Then it came to her like a number in the rescue sequence.

"A bezoar! Cedric, there's one in my closet, in the potion kit on the top shelf. Get it. Quick!"

Diggory rose with haste and almost tripped as he hurried into Hermione's room and began rooting in her closet. He found the small case soon enough and came rushing back out of the room, throwing Billywig wings, dandelion petals, knotgrass, and potion tools on the floor as he dug for the stone-like goat hairball. He pulled it out as though he had found a piece of gold and instantly squatted down. Hermione snatched it from him and shoved it roughly into Noah's mouth as the Animagus Auror rejoined them. Hermione tilted her cousin's head back as far as she could get it and began massaging the mass down his puffy throat.

"The Ministry is sending a mediwizard and another Auror."

"Come on," Hermione demanded through gritted teeth, ignoring the Auror's words as hot tears spilled over her cheeks and onto Noah's chest. "Swallow and breathe!"

Down in the living room, the clock on the mantle chimed the midnight hour. Hermione had once thought that the song it played, which Mr. Granger's father had told her was "Ave Maria," was a cheerful sort of tune. Now it resonated a mournful and foreboding aura as the lyrics marched like a funeral procession through her head.

_Hail Mary, full of grace, the Lord is with thee._

Hermione leaned forward, trying to listen for the slightest sound of her cousin's breathing over the chimes, which were deafening to her at that moment.

Seconds passed, the tune carried on, but no soft rustle of breathing joined it.

_Holy Mary, Mother of God, pray for us sinners, now and at the hour of our death._

Tears continued to spill from Hermione's eyes. Guilt and grief flocked to her in that moment like vultures to a kill on the side of the road. She could feel chills rent her insides, ripping at her as a strangled sob left her lips.

The chimes downstairs stopped, but they remained echoing in her ears like the thunderous bells at the beginning of a funeral procession.

She shook her head, a signal of denial as she grabbed Noah's wrist once more. While she felt for his pulse again, her mind swirled with her last words to him. They had been harsh and chastising. She had barked at him to chew his food, thinking that he was like a savage little barbarian with the way he gobbled the chocolate. Now he lay dead in the hallway outside her room where she had issued those cold words.

_No_, she thought to herself, swallowing against her whimpering. He was not dead. She had found his pulse, which was still there, no matter how weak.

Hermione returned to her efforts of massaging the bezoar down her cousin's throat, refusing to give up hope.

"Hermione! Noah! Daniel! Cedric!" Mrs. Granger called from the kitchen where the sound of a slamming drawer and shutting cupboards were made. "You're all being awfully quiet now. Bring down the dog and come have a piece of fruitcake and a cup of peppermint tea before bed!"

Plates clattered on the counter as Cedric reached for Hermione's fervently working hands.

"Hermione...," Diggory breathed, soft and gentle as the Auror checked his strange wristwatch. Her eyes darted up to Cedric's, but she never stopped rubbing her fingers on the distended area of Noah's neck.

"No," she denied with a firm, but gruff tone as she saw the sorrow, apology, and sympathy stretching from his gaze to her soul. "He's still there... Rub the bezoar down while I breathe for him."

Cedric glanced at the Animagus before his hands doubtfully replaced Hermione's and followed through with her command. She pinched Noah's nose closed for a second time as she pulled his chin down with her thumb. When she leaned over him to put her mouth on his, a belching sort of breath left him. Its putrid sweetness burned in her nostrils, causing her to gag. Noah's tongue twitched and then he drew in a deep gulp of air, sounding as though he were a mummy that had been asleep for thousands of years.

"Noah!" Hermione's voice wavered as she clutched his shoulders and pulled him over onto her lap. He blinked once and his eyes fought to focus themselves as his cousin caressed his cheek with concern. His stomach felt like someone had placed an iron ball into it and his throat was raw. He got the impression that someone had been choking him from the way his Adam's Apple throbbed so painfully. There was a sickeningly sweet taste on his tongue, too, that made him want to retch.

"Don't crowd me," Noah growled crustily as he swatted Hermione's hand and rubbed his sore throat.

She exhaled a sigh of relief and closed her burning eyes as her heart jumped from panicked to joyous.

Someone knocked at the front door then, so the Auror rose and jogged down the steps, past the awestruck Daniel and reverent Cedric.

Hermione could not help but think that maybe "Ave Maria" was a cheerful song after all. And maybe Mary had prayed for them in the hour of Noah's death. No one could ever be certain about that, but one thing was certain. He had been at Death's door, about to knock, and quick thinking and a goat's hairball had helped save Noah from an untimely, dark end.

Alleviation flooded Hermione's senses as a mediwizard and two Aurors joined them on the hallway floor. Cedric pulled Daniel away, who gave his friend a watery look of alarm.

Now Hermione turned her attention to the spilled gift of chocolates as the mediwizard ran his wand over Noah in a methodical manner. Her father and uncle had certainly not bought those for her. In fact, she knew exactly where they came from, and it only enraged her to think that her stalker had almost cost her a member of her family.

Things had been quite personal before that moment, but now, as she glared at the dark balls of chewy, chocolaty termination, they became vengefully personal. Hermione would make sure that she got her revenge, even if it killed her. She was not one to be broken or discouraged, so she was going to show whoever this bastard was that he could not eliminate her with a mere box of sweet-coated, candy expiry.

* * *

"Are you all right?" Diggory asked cautiously as he rose from his seat on the couch and walked over to take Hermione's empty teacup.

"No... not really," she sighed as she glanced at the colored, twinkling lights on the Christmas tree and thought about the events of only a few hours ago. "Noah almost died... In fact, I think he was dead those last few seconds before I tried rescue breathing a second time," she added, mildly mesmerized by the way the shiny bows atop each package reflected the lights. "He annoys me most of the time, but I..."

She swallowed hard against the sudden lump in her throat as Cedric sat her cup back down and perched upon the edge of the coffee table in front of her. He enfolded her clutched hands in his and tried to think of the best way to soothe her. He wished then that the Aurors had erased tonight's events from her head just as they had with her family members and Daniel.

"I don't know what I would do if I lost him," she whispered. "He's family. He was the little brother I never truly got to have... What would I have done? It would have been my fault that he-"

"No," Diggory interjected. "It was not your fault, nor would it have been if things had gone sour... You can't blame yourself for everything that happens around you. You don't ask for this stuff."

"I know, but...," she faltered for words, and when none came, she heaved a shuddering sigh and looked at her hands in his. "I can't stay here, especially not if I want them to be safe." She looked up then, her eyes meeting his. "I need to go back to the school early or enter some kind of witness protection. Maybe I could find a place to stay and use the Fidelius Charm until this man is captured."

"Hiding isn't the answer," Cedric voiced, speaking what she already knew deep down. "Besides, I know you are not one to hide from your problems. Even if you were, do you think running away and concealing yourself would stop the attacks happening here?" When she just stared at him, he said something he knew she did not want to hear, but needed to hear. "He would only attack more, trying to draw you out, then."

She nodded her agreement and turned her gaze to the dimly lit floor. Cedric's shadow flickered there, surrounded by red one moment, blue the next, and green the next. As the colors continued to blink and change, she came back to an idea she had had many times recently. She was lucky to have Diggory there with her, to have his support.

"What am I to do, then?" Hermione asked without looking back up at him. "He almost killed Noah tonight... I cannot imagine what could be worse than nearly killing someone in my family."

While Cedric searched internally for an answer to her question, he found himself awed by her. How could she not think of something worse than the death of someone she loved? Did she not fear death for herself more than that of someone around her, someone close to her? Should not the thought of pain involved in death seem so much more dreadful? Was her bravery and selflessness so deep that it paralyzed the part of her brilliant mind in which self-preservation thrived?

"We'll think of something in the morning. For now... you should get some sleep," he advised as he squeezed her hands.

Her nod was barely noticeable, but she followed that up by rising from her seat and looking down at him.

"Thank you," she whispered before leaning down and kissing his temple, "for everything." She turned and walked towards the steps, climbing up to her room without a backward glance.

* * *

"Can I help you?" asked a nasally receptionist outside of the Minister's office.

"I would like to speak with Minister Shacklebolt, please," Cedric requested as he beamed down at the portly witch behind her desk.

"Do you have an appointment?" she quizzed as she pulled out a voluminous binder. She dropped it onto the desk with a loud smack and began flipping through the pages.

"Well, no... I, uh-"

"I cannot let you in to see the Minister without an appointment," the secretary informed, ceasing her page turning as she peered up at Cedric from under eyebrows that had seen too much plucking.

"It's about an urgent matter," Cedric tried. "Couldn't you just squeeze me in during a lull? It would only take a moment."

"No appointment, no audience," reminded the receptionist in an annoying chant. She closed the enormous binder with a slap and hulled it off her desk.

"When is the next available opening?" Diggory asked in a hopeful tone, trying to play to the secretary's tune in hopes that he could soften her resolve.

"Let me see," she sighed, dragging the binder back onto her desk. Its noisy thud made Cedric wince, and he soon had to take a seat as she began rifling through the pages.

"The next opening is in January, on the fifteenth," she announced, glancing up expectantly at the young man across the room.

"January? The fifteenth?!" he repeated in mild outrage. "I can't wait that long... Surely there must be something sooner than that..."

"That's the soonest," she said with a disinterested look. "The Minister is leaving the office after today and won't be back until after the New Year."

"There isn't something for later today? Right before he leaves, perhaps?"

"No, sir, there isn't."

"Please... This is about the safety of a dear friend to both myself and the Minister. Her name is Hermione Granger, and she is currently under the supervision of a group of Aurors at her home, but these precautions are not enough."

"Then you need to speak with the head of the Aurors," the receptionist suggested with a tone of finality.

"I tried that already. He will not move Hermione Granger without permission from the Minister because this is a high-risk case. I don't think you understand just how urgent this is," Cedric argued, rising from his seat on the overstuffed leather loveseat.

"There is nothing I can do, Mr...?"

"Diggory. Cedric Diggory. My father is Amos Diggory. Our family is a cherished friend of Kingsley."

"I'm sorry, Mr. Diggory," huffed the secretary in a snotty manner. "There's nothing more that I can do for you. If you want to schedule an appointment for the fifteenth of January, I can do that, but otherwise, I'm going to have to ask you to leave."

"Can I at least leave a message for the Minister?" Cedric grumbled, feeling his patience grow irritatingly short.

"Yes, but I cannot guarantee that he will get to it today," she noted as she grabbed a piece of paper and a quill and looked up at Cedric anticipatively. The quill twitched in her fingers as though it were ready to go bouncing across the page, blotting ink and scratching out words.

"It is about Hermione Granger," he began. "I would like to speak to the Minister about moving her to my home instead of her own. I feel it would be safer."

The quill began scribbling, moving out of the secretary's hand as it wrote the words 'Hermione Granger, move, safer'.

"Cedric Diggory. One twenty-three p.m. December twenty-first," she added, watching the quill jot down her additions to the note.

Then she snatched up the writing utensil as it wobbled on a period after 'twenty-first', making a dark blot on the page. She stowed it in an open inkwell and began folding the note into the shape of a plane. Once she had it just right, she tapped it with her wand, which made it zoom off the palm of her hand and towards the waiting room door.

"Thank you, Agatha," Kingsley boomed as he plucked the flying note out of the air just before it could dart into his eye.

"Oh! Minister... I'm sorry," the receptionist gushed, her face twinging red as her boss stood in the waiting room door. "Sometimes I just give them too much oomph."

"Happens to me all the time," the Minister chuckled deeply as he unfolded the plane and began reading. "Hermione Granger, hmm?" Kingsley turned his gaze on Cedric and there was a small glimmer in his dark chocolate eyes. "Hello, Cedric."

"Minister," Diggory acknowledged, extending his hand as he straightened his back. Even if Kingsley were friends with his father and had visited for dinner some nights after a long shift on the Auror floor, Cedric knew he needed to show respect for the Minister.

"You want to have Miss Granger moved, eh?" Shacklebolt asked, getting right down to business as he clasped Cedric's shoulder and guided him into his office.

"Yes, sir," Cedric nodded. "I believe she would be safer at my home for the remainder of the holidays."

"Is that so?" Kingsley questioned, seemingly inviting the younger man to explain his motives and ideas on the matter.

"Yes, sir," Cedric said once more. "I doubt I need to mention the incident that occurred last night with her cousin, Noah."

"No, you do not," the Minister muttered, sounding highly dissatisfied.

"It could have easily been Hermione instead. If it had not been for her quick thinking in using a bezoar, then Noah would have died. Had it been her, we could not say that anyone would have thought of that solution."

Here the Minister nodded his understand and leaned back in his chair, relaxing despite the tense look on his face.

"I feel that the Aurors protecting her are doing an excellent job; they have prevented so much from going wrong so far. Nonetheless, I think some added measures need to be taken."

"What kind of added measures?" Kingsley inquired, becoming more intrigued as he tilted his head to the left and continued to study Cedric.

"What if we were to move Hermione to a place that the stalker did not know? What if we moved her to a home where she was not only under the regular security watch and myself, but that of another Auror and his family?"

"You want to move Miss Granger to your home because you think that her attacker would be unsuspecting of the switch?" Shacklebolt summed up, tapping his fingers on his chair arm.

"And the added surviellance would be a plus, no doubt," Cedric reminded hopefully. "How could her stalker truthfully trace her there? There is no evidence to suggest that he knows my address, and it would prevent further harm to her family."

"You have a point," Kingsley nodded as he leaned forward in his chair now and eyed the young Auror-in-training.

Moments passed, making Cedric's heart leap from encouraged to worried and back again. Finally, the Minister rose as a knock came to the door.

"Minister, you have a two o'clock appointment with the Head of Magical Creatures about a group of mixed species breeds that were discovered in the wild," Agatha reminded. "Then you are due at a statue dedication ceremony outside of Gringotts by three."

"Thank you, Aggie," Shacklebolt sighed as he opened the door to his office a little wider and glanced back at Cedric, who rose from his chair and walked reluctantly to the door.

He paused and met the Minister's eyes, trying to make his own gaze as pleading and trustworthy as possible.

"Aggie," Kingsley said a moment later, never removing his stare from Diggory. "Write up a transportation request form. I'm going to need an Auror escort as driver for the Ministry vehicle. I would like the pick-up point to be the residence of Hermione Granger and the destination to be the safe Apparation zone used by the Aurors guarding her. There will need to be a Portkey set up for this, too. Destination on the Portkey will be the Diggory home... Cedric here can assist you." With that said, Shacklebolt clapped Cedric on the shoulder and grinned broadly. "Take care."

"Thank you, sir... thank you," Diggory sighed in relief as he watched Kingsley turn away and return to his desk. Cedric felt excitement bubbling up inside of him; he could scarcely wait to tell Hermione.


	26. Taboo

**A/N:** I won't waste time apologizing for taking over three months to update. I will, however, say that there is good reason... or rather reasons. First and foremost, my grandfather passed away on the twentieth of March, which put me into quite a depression. Then school started a week later. Throughout April and May, I was juggling that and work and day-to-day things, which left no time to really work on my writing. On the fourth of June, I graduated Ohio University Eastern Campus with my Associate's in Arts degree for Arts and Humanities and now I'm off for the summer, at least from school. I'm back to working full-time, though, so don't demand too much yet. Nonetheless, I should have more time to complete this story.

Now, I need to thank everyone who reviewed the last chapter (while I pray that they're sticking with this fic until the end, lol): _Tecumseh Dean, Shirbells Whitlock Swan, Elliesmeow, pottersgirl91, Rin1507, lucyferr, Dramione-Fan 17, Lizzy Evans, TeamEdwardAndTeamHayley, Mary-La, Rachelli, dragon junkie, Ceralyn, CheshireCat23, _and _thecoolestloseryouknow._. Y'all are just too wonderful for having put up with the fic thus far. I just hope you'll continue to deal with my unpredictable behaviors and give the rest of the story a chance...

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* * *

Chapter 26 – Taboo**

"Take good care of her, won't you, Cedric?" Mrs. Granger fretted as she glanced over her shoulder at her daughter, who was hugging Mr. Granger and the rest of the family goodbye.

"Of course, Mrs. Granger," Diggory vowed as Hermione's mother smiled feebly at him and touched his cheek affectionately with her palm.

"It was a pleasure having you here, dear," she whispered. "I hope to see you return for another visit fairly soon... and hopefully under better circumstances." Mrs. Granger's warm, but half-hearted smile turned into a concentrated frown that all mothers wore when they were worried about their children. She sighed as she heard Hermione approach from behind, wishing her daughter did not have to go. However, she kept telling herself that her only child was in good, trustworthy hands.

"I'm ready," Hermione beamed, positively bubbling with true excitement for the first time in days.

When Cedric had told her that she would be visiting his home for the remainder of the holidays, she had been ecstatic and overjoyed. The first thing she gushed about as she thanked him had been the fact that she would probably get to see Harry and Ron and the rest of the Weasley family because she knew they did not live far away from the Diggory residence.

"Be careful, please," Hermione's mother muttered as she cupped her daughter's face in her hands and gave her a serious and pleading stare.

"I'll be fine, Mother," Hermione sighed for the umpteenth time since that afternoon. "What's the worst that could happen?" Mrs. Granger blanched, and Hermione immediately regretted that comment, so she added, "I'm going to one of the safest places that I can right now. No worries, okay?"

"She's your mother... she'll always worry," Mr. Granger said, stepping up to his wife and placing an arm around her shoulder as she grimaced away some tears. "You had better get going," he mentioned a moment later as he saw guilt flash in Hermione's eyes. "It's getting rather dark, and you don't want to keep Cedric's parents waiting."

Nodding with both agreement and appreciation of her father's portal to opportunity, she grabbed her suitcase from the floor by the front door and looked to Cedric.

"Be sure to let us know that you arrived all right," Mrs. Granger instructed as she pulled her husband to the door when Cedric stepped forward to open it.

"I'll have to write to do that," Hermione reminded. "The Diggorys do not have a home telephone."

"No telephone?" Noah gasped in disbelief.

"Why?" Daniel chimed in, his tone wild with shock as he and his friend exchanged looks of horror.

"My family thinks they're... _impractical_," Cedric supplied, trying to find the most Muggle-friendly way to explain his family's lack of the communication device that most humans saw as a household necessity. "They feel that they are too impersonal. My family much more prefers visiting rather than using a... one of those," he finished, forgetting for a moment what the name of the mechanism was.

"Weird," Noah mumbled as he shook his head and crossed his arms over his chest, giving Cedric a suspicious eye.

"Well," Hermione piped up merrily as she looked around at everyone one final time. "Shall we?" she suggested as her eyes landed on Cedric and her stomach did an anxious little squirm.

"Indeed," Diggory smiled as he gestured for her to lead the way out onto the snow-dusted front porch. "Thank you again for your hospitality. It was very nice meeting you all."

"You, too, dear," Hermione's aunt giggled as she winked at her niece. "He's a keeper," she whispered a second later as Mr. Granger shook Cedric's hand.

Hermione flushed slightly, but the bitter cold winter wind that was blowing around her in the twilight was enough to cover up for that. She waved goodbye once more to her family and started down the walk towards the waiting Ministry car with Cedric right beside her. He opened the rear passenger door and waited for her to slide in first before following her in. When the door was shut, the driver glanced into the rearview mirror, his eyes only gracing them for a moment before he gave one last check to the house. Once he saw the hare huddled under the barren front shrubbery near the porch, he made a large U-turn and headed straight into town.

"So, what did your aunt mean? I thought she didn't know anything about the wizarding world?" Cedric quizzed in hushed tones, trying to keep the conversation between himself and Hermione.

"What are you talking about?" Hermione asked distractedly as she watched her house shrinking in the back window.

"She said that I was a Keeper. I never played Keeper; I was the Seeker for Hufflepuff. What made you tell her?" Diggory explained.

"What?" Hermione said, feeling slightly confused. She thought for a moment about what he had said, then it dawned on her. "Oh!" Hermione giggled softly and shook her head as amusement glittered in her eyes. "She wasn't talking about a Quidditch Keeper. She was talking about a different kind of keeper."

"Well, what other kind is there?"

"Surely you've heard the expression that someone you're dating is a keeper, haven't you?"

"Your family thinks we're dating?" he asked, completely ignoring the real point behind her quizzical comment.

"No, no," Hermione denied quickly. "My aunt always does that with my boy friends... I mean, that is, my _male_ companions... In fact, she always used to tease me when I got letters from Harry over the summer holidays. She even pestered me about Ron one summer when he and his father came to pick me up to stay with their family at the Burrow, so you don't have to worry."

"I wasn't worried," he assured her in a soft, slow murmur that should have relaxed her nervousness and anxiety about the situation, but it made her skin tingle instead.

If he could bring about such a reaction from her with just words, she wondered what more he could do with a touch...

She shook her head minutely, trying to rattle the thought out of her brain as she looked away from where his hands rested on his lap. She was not supposed to be thinking like that. She was letting the idea of going to stay with him and his family get to her too much, in too odd of a way. Her visit was merely meant to make things easier and safer.

Tomorrow she would wake without disturbance from her atrocious admirer and her family would be pulling out of their driveway, destined for her grandparents' home. And that was what she was supposed to be excited about. As well as getting to see Harry, Ron, and the rest of the Weasley clan, too, of course.

She had not seen them in months, and she was sure that they would all be there. Mr. and Mrs. Weasley, Bill and Fleur, George and Angelina, Percy and Audrey, Harry and Ginny, and Ron and Charlie. Hermione could hardly wait to step foot into the packed living room and sing wizarding Christmas carols or help Mrs. Weasley in the always cramped and busy kitchen. She was relishing the idea of their traditional snowball fights; sneaking looks at presents at midnight; and breaking open Whacky Wizard Crackers that held Chocolate Frogs, Ice Mice, and real little sugarplum fairies.

"Hermione?" Cedric whispered, leaning closer to her as he waved a hand in front of her face, trying to draw her out of her reverie.

"Hmm?"

"What were you thinking about? You looked absolutely delirious with glee."

"Just thinking about all the fun I'm—I mean, _we're_ going to have," she replied, feeling even more joyous at the thought that Cedric would be beside her through all of the events she had just imagined.

"I'm glad that you're excited for this," Diggory stated with a brilliance dancing from his smile to his eyes. "I thought, at first, that you might be mad at me for having gone behind your back to the Minister."

"I cannot say that I think it was right for you to do that without my consent, but it was a fitting solution to the problems that have been arising," Hermione conceded as the driver turned into a small alleyway and stopped the vehicle.

* * *

He stood in the woods behind the Granger home, glaring out from the dense trees at a small gray rabbit hopping around and around the house.

Roden had watched Hermione get into a Ministry car with her annoyingly noble companion, Cedric Diggory. He fumed at the very memory of the car idling at the curb in front of her home. He had no idea where she was heading, which meant that the gift he had in the works for her was going to be useless. How was he supposed to find her now? Where had they even been going? It was obvious that the pair would not be returning to this residence because they were packed too heavily. Would they be returning to school already, or were they destined for another location?

He turned and pulled out his wand, clutching it tighter than necessary as he prepared at Disapparate. With a noisy crack, he was gone, whizzing through time and space back to his uncle's home. When he finally came out of the darkness of Apparation, he stood at the gates of the large mansion he now lived in. He trudged towards the front door, and as he drew closer, he could make out the faint screams of his house elf. Throwing open the front door, Roden instantly saw why the pitiful creature was bellowing in terror.

He was surrounded by a group of sinister looking corpses, each having been summoned by Roden himself. Four of the ten grotesque beings had once called the very house in which they stood home. Another was a young teenaged girl with skinny limbs and stringy, blood-crusted hair. The sixth and seventh were meddlesome people; one had once been an Auror and the other had been a concerned London Muggle. The last three were much more decayed and reeked more heavily with the stench of a gruesome grave, and they, too, had once worked for the Ministry.

"Leave! Back to your confines!" commanded Avery as he pointed his wand down the corridor.

The Inferi hissed in protest, but they dare not disobey their master. Turning slowly, they walked as the living dead back down the hall to the basement, where they would remain until Roden called upon them for further use.

The house elf cowered for a moment, tears spilling from his large eyes as he wiped at the blood that covered his limbs and face. His tattered, dirty towel, which had served as his clothing, was torn to shreds and hanging from his body like ripped curtains in a haunted house.

Avery waved his wand when the last of the Inferi disappeared through the basement door. It locked as he turned on his elf and glared down with displeasure.

"How foolish are you, you brainless beast?" he growled. "How could you let them loose? What were you thinking?"

The house elf started to stammer out an answer, but Roden snarled and flung his hand at the small creature. The smack connected and the tiny magical being flew backwards, hitting the wall with a sound that resembled a bag of bones being dropped on a wooden table.

"I am sorry, sir!" the house elf screamed as his sobs returned to full force. "I did not means to!"

"Leave! Punish yourself!" Roden demanded as he kicked the elf for good measure. When his whimpering died behind the closed door of the kitchen, Avery turned into the living room and dropped down into a lounge chair. He slammed his fist against the arm of the chair before brandishing his wand in the direction of the hearth. A roaring blaze burst to life as though it were the manifestation of the choler he felt in that moment.

"The company you surround yourself with is atrocious."

"Not now, Uncle," groaned Roden as he slouched in his seat and began pressing his fingertips to the back of his eyelids. "I am not in the mood."

"Not in the mood?" repeated Cicero Avery's portrait. His voice was harsh and disapproving, like the crack of a tough, large whip. "You've become weak and unambitious! Your mother would be ashamed... I know I am."

"Enough!" Roden bellowed, shooting up from his chair and aiming his wand a the painting. He was ready to blast the ornate, tarnished silver frame and delicate, detailed canvas to cinders when another oil-painted figure entered into view. A lady of amazing beauty and youth. Her face was the epitome of aristocracy with its dark eyebrows, thick fringe of lashes, and pale, perfect skin. The goddess of love herself would go pea-green with envy if she were to gaze upon this slender, dark woman of immense attractiveness.

Roden lowered his wand and stared in reverent appreciation of her. The look upon his face made it clear that his life was pained without this lovely woman.

"Is this what I left you to?" she asked in mild, but sincere disfavor. She glanced out of the corner of her eye at her brother, who stood beside her looking snide as he sneered down at his nephew. "Is this how you were raised?" She shook her gorgeous head and a lock of hair slipped softly down at her temple. "I'm appalled, Roden... Useless bickering and pestilent squabbling is beneath you, my son. You sit here belittling one another while unfit creatures rove the depths of our home?" she chastised in outrage as she looked from her son to her brother. She shook her head one last time and turned away, leaving only her brother in the frame.

Roden turned his back as frustration gripped him. He refused to cry, and he certainly refused to let his uncle witness the internal battle that was raging.

"Have you given up? Are you going to let a Mudblood bitch beat you?" Cicero chided. "Have you become so unusable? So ineffectual? Are you so weak that you will dishonor me, dishonor our family name by giving up so easily?" Cicero snorted with disgust as he approached the edge of the frame; he could no longer stand to look upon his nephew. "Your mother is right. You were not raised this way. I expected more of you," he snapped just before disappearing from the painting entirely.

Roden whipped around and let out a fierce yell. The rage and ire he felt colored his face as he stormed off towards the library. If he was lucky, he could find something there in one of the Dark Arts books that would aid him in locating Hermione Granger.

* * *

Hermione stood in the bathroom of the Diggory home, her gut whirling about as though it were on a playground merry-go-round, which was spinning way too fast. She felt sick, and she blamed part of that on the rough Portkey ride she had taken with her luggage, two Aurors, and Cedric. The other part was the fact that she was so nervous around his family. They kept hugging her and grabbing her hand while they cooed about how much they adored "Cedric's new girlfriend." Hermione barely had space to breathe because Mrs. Diggory was practically bound to her side, constantly smoothing her slightly bushy curls and making a fuss over how cute her son and Hermione were together.

"Hermione?" Cedric called through the bathroom door. He sounded apprehensive, almost like he feared she had secretly slipped out the window to run away. "Are you all right?"

"Fine!" she called back, glancing at herself in the mirror. She spotted a lipstick smudge on her cheek and began rubbing at it with the heel of her palm. "Fine," she sighed again as she smoothed her shirt and willed her insides to calm themselves.

"Dinner is ready," Cedric informed as she opened the door and almost stepped on his toes.

"Sorry," she muttered as she backed up a step, trying to put some space between them. She had not expected him to be standing so close to the door.

"Are you sure you're all right?" he frowned as he noticed a red splotch on her cheek. He smiled inwardly as he realized just what it was from; he had had that same mark many times before. His aunt's lipstick was ridiculously hard to remove after she smothered you with affectionate kisses.

"Yes. I feel brilliant."

"I'm sorry that they're—"

"Don't," Hermione whispered as she shook her head. "Your family is..."

"Overwhelming? Too much? Smothering?" Cedric suggested, trying to finish her sentence for her.

"No, not quite. Charming is more the word I was going for," she chuckled as his shoulders slumped.

"I just wish they would quit calling you my girlfriend and bombarding you with absurd accusations."

"They're family," Hermione shrugged, feeling the nausea return at the sound of his tone. Was it really that awful to him that they suspected her of being his girlfriend? "That's what they do."

"Cedric!" Mrs. Diggory called sweetly from the kitchen. "Your father will be home any second. Come down for dinner! You, too, Hermione dear!"

Diggory rolled his eyes and stepped aside so that Hermione could lead the way into the kitchen. He felt the urge to grab Hermione's hand and run out the front door without looking back, but he knew that was wrong. He loved his family; he truly did. He just wished that they would lay off of the girlfriend thing. They were not making things any easier on him. He was having enough trouble sorting out his feelings for the girl that was currently his houseguest. He did not need his family driving Hermione away by trying to force her upon him.

"Here, dear," Mrs. Diggory beamed as she wrapped an arm around Hermione's waist when they entered the kitchen and guided her to the table. "You can sit next to me and Cedric." She pulled out a chair, and Hermione dropped with surprise into the seat.

Diggory took his place to her right and his mother scooted in on the left as Mr. Diggory came in the back door and began hanging his belongings on the coat rack. He eyed his son and their guest as though he were afraid they might do something totally inappropriate right there on the dinner table. Cedric sighed to himself and wished he could crawl under the table. He had a feeling that this dinner was going to be highly regrettable.

* * *

Roden slammed another book down on embellished oak desk and growled with frustration. He had found just about everything from ways to cause agonizing amputation to necro-ridden nightmares and more. However, nothing appeared in the many books on dark practices that could help him locate Hermione Granger.

He dropped down into the chair at the desk and picked at the pealing varnish on the arm. How was he supposed to find her now? He would have to wait until she returned to the Auror Academy, and he had no idea when that would be. His plans were completely destroyed now.

"I always found a nice cigar made of fluxweed and lovage instead of tobacco relaxed my mind and brought about the answers I was looking for," came a rumbling voice.

Avery glanced back over his shoulder at the bookshelf behind him, which was a mess from the amount of books that were missing from its shelves. Through the gap above the leaning tomes, he could see a figure moving in a painting.

"I'm not much for the minty taste of fluxweed," Roden called back as he gathered himself to his feet and stepped around the shelf to peer at his grandfather.

"Our family has never been known for being easily fooled or effortless. Your discouraged behavior tells me that you're not as fortuitous and clever as you were when you were a child."

Roden glared up from under his brow and regarded the man that was his mother's father with deep distain. He did not need another family member's painting telling him that he was spineless or useless or stupid.

"It's almost taboo for our family to be considered anything less than cunning and strong-willed," his grandfather murmured as he checked a golden pocket watch that dangled from his waistcoat. He tucked it back into its pocket and glanced once more at his grandson before stepping out of his frame.

Roden pondered what he had said for a moment and then felt an idea slither forth into his brain like a snake entering a rabbit hole for food.

"Taboo?" he repeated to himself. "Taboo..."

With that, he turned back to the desk and grabbed one of the dozen volumes stacked before him. He lowered himself slowly into the oaken seat and began riffling through the pages, a plan formulating in his brain as his eyes scanned the pages of the book.

* * *

"Good night, Cedric," Mrs. Diggory called from the bottom of the steps as Mr. Diggory grabbed her hand to lead her upstairs. "Good night, Hermione... Don't stay up too late, okay?"

"We're just going to finish this game," her son promised as he gestured to the chessboard between him and Hermione on the coffee table.

"Good night, kids," Amos bid as he tugged at his wife's hand once more and began climbing towards the comfort of their bedroom.

Once they were out of sight, Cedric looked back down at the pieces on the board. He was pleased that dinner had passed as painlessly as possible. But what made him even more relaxed was the notion that his father was warming up to Hermione. In fact, the two had had a riveting conversation about some of the departments in the Ministry while at dinner, which had saved them all the embarrassing small talk Mrs. Diggory had been trying to broach about her son's relationship with their guest.

"It's your turn," he reminded Hermione as she gazed intently at the game. She tilted her head slightly to the right and chewed at a chapped spot on her bottom lip.

"Knight to E-six," Hermione commanded with uncertainty. She was never good at this game; she had only ever watched Harry and Ron play while she studied or read.

"Bad move, love," Cedric said apologetically before commanding his rook to move to H-one and put her king in checkmate. "I thought you would be a more worthy opponent than that," he joked as she crawled across the floor and up onto the couch.

"I guess I'm just tired," she muttered as she drew her legs up beside her and pulled at the hem of the sheets that were draped over the back of the couch, awaiting Cedric to spread them out over the cushions.

"You can go to bed now that the game's over," he suggested as he joined her on the couch and stretched. "We've got all day tomorrow to do whatever we please."

"I don't know that I could sleep, though, even if I did go upstairs to bed," she sighed as she fixed his pillow neatly at her end of the couch. She felt awful about making him sleep on the couch, but the guest room was taken by some of his family, which left only his room. And Mr. Diggory did not seem too pleased with the idea of them sharing a room with only one full-sized bed in it.

"What's wrong? Are you uncomfortable here?"

"It's not that," Hermione assured him tenderly as she stood up off the couch and grabbed the sheets. "I thought I would be relaxed and happy to get away from the nightly terrors that were happening at my house, but the silence and uneventfulness that I'm experiencing here are worse than the trouble at my place."

"What?" he asked, perplexed as he stood and helped her make the couch into a suitable bed.

"It's stressful," she explained as she fussed over a wrinkle in the middle of the blanket that he had throw down. "I don't know where this insane pest of mine is and what he's up to. At least when he was making threats and attacks on me, I knew he was still focused on me. Right now, though, I'm worried for my family and wondering if he's sent some danger their way." Hermione dropped back down onto the couch and knotted her fingers in her hair. She had never imagined that a night of peace from the stalker's bombardment would drive her crazy like this.

"I'm sure that they are just fine," Cedric soothed as he sat down next to her and grabbed her hands in his. His knee brushed against hers as he bent forward to see her downturned face. "The Aurors that were on guard there are staying until your family leaves tomorrow. In fact—if I'm not mistaken—I heard my father say that your family will have an undercover Ministry escort from your home to your grandparents' house... Everything is going to be all right," he promised as he lifted her face to look at him.

She found reassurance in the depths of his eyes as she gazed at him, but even more than that, she found the last of her resolve against forming a romantic relationship with him crumbling. It was like watching the bricks of a wall that had long been weathered finally give wave. Bits of tender, infatuated insanity broke past her reasonable reluctance, which fought to stay in place even as it came undone. And when she leaned forward, those bits of insanity danced merrily around the reluctance until it was dizzy and gave up entirely for the moment.

Her lips found his, partial parted and warm. The chapped spots on both their mouths made a strange, but complimentary sensation when compared with the untoughened smoothness. The kiss was both gentle and freeing, like a mild and docile drizzle after a long drought.

Cedric was taken by surprise, but found his instincts kicking in quickly. He released her chin and the one hand of hers that he still held on to and cupped her face between his hands. When he attempted to deepen the kiss, she pulled back, her reluctance awakened from its dizzied state.

"I should go upstairs now," she whispered a little breathlessly. She lightly wrapped her fingers around his wrists and removed his palms from her cheeks. When she stood, she did not look at him. "Good night," she murmured before turning and walking soundlessly to the stairs. She jogged up them quickly, but he did not pursue her because he did not want to force her into anything, especially at a time when she seemed so pressured anyways.


	27. Slip Into Heaven

**A/N and WARNING:** This chapter contains themes that are suitable for adults. The following scenes are the reason that the story is rated 'M'. If you do not wish to read these parts, just skip the entire third section, after the second break, and continue reading the fourth section, after the third break; it will have no great significance on your understanding of the story if you do pass up this part.

Now, with that said, I will give my thanks and unleash you darling readers on the chapter. Thank you to: _CheshireCat23, Dramione-Fan 17, Tecumseh Dean, Elliesmeow, Lizzy Evans, pottersgirl91, Mary-La, Akaalias, Rachelli, dragon junkie,_ and _I'm home_. You are all too wonderful for words, my sweets!**  


* * *

Chapter 27 – Slip Into Heaven**

Hermione slipped into Cedric's room and closed the door quietly behind her. She closed her eyes just as tightly and banged her head softly against the door frame. How could she have done such a thing? Her resolution had been so weak only seconds ago, but now it was belittling and berating her for having been so irrational.

As the kiss replayed in her mind, she felt her stomach flip-flopping. How would she face him in the morning? How was she to explain her actions? What would this do to their friendship? It had taken weeks—months, even—to build the relationship they shared, and she had just fractured it in a matter of seconds.

Hermione crossed the room and dropped down onto the bed. She buried her face in the pillows and groaned with disappointed frustration. When she sat up and huffed, she realized that his taste was not only still on her lips, but his smell was enveloping her in this room. His sheets were saturated with his intoxicating, musky scent. She looked around and suddenly felt as though she were being suffocated, not only with guilt, but with him in general. She got up quickly and crossed to the window, opening it just a crack.

When the late night chill of December rushed in, she felt some relief come with it, but not nearly enough to sweep away the sweetness of that kiss. It had only been a few minutes ago, but it was already burned into her brain like a brand on the skin. It kept replaying as though it were something deeply important, something that she would remember for years and years to come. But it was only a kiss! A stupid, ridiculous, impulsive locking of lips.

Hermione leaned down and breathed the icy breeze in. It burnt her lungs with its frigid frostiness, but the burning she felt there was not enough to quell the burning that a simple kiss had lit all over her body.

A groan escaped her lips, and she straightened herself. Pulling her sweater over her head, she tried to remove his scent and that memory along with her clothes as she prepared for bed. Once she had slipped into her pajamas, she crawled under the covers and laid back to stare at the darkened ceiling. A strange thought came to her then: She would rather deal with the stalker's antics than deal with her confusion and frustration over Cedric. She rolled her eyes at her own ridiculousness and tossed onto her side to glare out the window at the light flurry of snow that had just begun to fall. As she watch the flakes drift down, she tried to count them, hoping the hypnotic motion and preoccupation of counting would lull her to sleep.

* * *

It was late, nearly one in the morning, but Roden was still pouring over volume after volume, trying to find out as much as he could about placing a Taboo on someone's name. He remembered faintly that the Dark Lord had done it with his own alias, Voldemort, but he did not know much more than that.

Could he really place a Taboo on Hermione Granger's name? How would that work? How many people used her name on a daily basis? Would he be alerted and then have to Apparate just willy-nilly until he finally found her? Could he get lucky enough that the first person to use her name after he cast the spell would be the person who was with her in that moment? Or would he be unlucky and find one individual after another who just happened to be mentioning her in passing?

He glanced up at the clock, and he decided that it was worth a try. Nothing he had read so far on any other type of magic was going to be much help, so maybe he could at least glean some information from this if he could not find her directly. First, though, he needed a good night's rest.

* * *

Hermione pitched herself from right to left in the bed for what seemed like the zillionth time. No matter how long she closed her eyes or how many snowflakes she counted, she could not remove her anxiety long enough to let her sleep.

"This is stupid," she grumbled at the wall as she pushed herself up and flung her legs out of bed. She scooted to the bedroom door, stubbing her toe on her suitcase as she went. She cursed under her breath and winced for a moment before opening the door as quietly as she could. Poking her head out of the room, she glanced up and down the upstairs hallway before tip-toeing to the top of the staircase. "Cedric?" she whispered barely loud enough for herself to hear as she strained to see if he was asleep on the couch in the living room.

She descended to the first step and saw him lounging on the couch, a single candle flickering the best it could as it came dangerously close to burning out. He was reading, obviously still awake. Hermione chewed her lip, pondering the idea of going to sort things out with him. If she did not, she would never get to sleep. However, what was she to say? How should she even broach the topic? As she stood deliberating, Cedric spotted her out of the corner of his eye. He closed his book and sat up, leaning on the back of the sofa as he watched her.

"Hermione?" he called softly, trying to get her attention as quietly as possible.

"Oh!" she breathed, surprised at being caught on the stairs.

"Something wrong?"

"No, no," she mouthed and turned to go back to bed, but something stopped her. She took a deep breath before turning and descending the rest of the steps. She stared at her feet as she crossed the living room and came to stand beside the couch where he still sat looking mildly concerned and a little confused. Daring a peek, she peered at him from the corner of her eye as she kept her face turned to the floor.

He was without a shirt and his hair was more disheveled than normal. His eyes, though filled with patience and care, seemed to drill straight into her soul. They made her knees weak, causing them to buckle ever so slightly, so she sat down on the corner of the coffee table.

"What is it?" he inquired as he slid to the edge of his seat, coming even closer to her.

She tried not to look at him as a chill danced up her spine. Her skin prickled and tingled. What was the matter with her? She shared a room with him for months, for crying out loud! Why was he having this effect on her now?

Feeling utterly fed up with her silly behavior, she raised her head, but her eyes stopped on his abdomen as they traveled from where his kneecaps brushed hers. There, just above his bellybutton and stretching from the bottom of his left rib, almost to his right hip, was a horrendous scar. It puckered the skin over his stomach, pulling it taut, and it cried out for attention with its bright pink shade.

"Oh my... Cedric...," she uttered, barely able to get the words out as she gawked in disbelief at the mark the cursed flames had left.

His gaze left her shocked face as he, too, glanced at the marred skin. He shrugged and brushed the fingers of his right hand over the slightly raised blemish.

"It's nothing," he stated nonchalantly.

"Nothing?" she repeated incredulously. "It... it doesn't look like _nothing_."

"The Healers at St. Mungo's gave me a healing paste that I'm supposed to put on it nightly for the next couple of weeks. With any luck, it will be completely gone—scar and all—in about a year."

"A year?" she gasped, feeling guilt ripple through her entire body as she touched her fingers to her lips. "I'm... I'm sorry," she added in a muffled way as a tear sprang into the corner of her eye.

"It's not your fault—"

"Oh, yes, it is!" Hermione argued fiercely as she slammed her fist against her knee.

"I'm fine," he assured her as he grabbed her hand and unfurled her fist. He trailed her fingers over the scar on his abdomen, letting her delicate digits follow the rise and fall of the mar. "See?" he whispered as she became stolid and unreadable.

Diggory released her hand when she did not answer, but her fingertips never left his skin. Instead, they traced the angry cicatrix from the center of his stomach, up past the top of the scar to his chest, over his sternum, back down to the center of his abdomen, and then further down to the top of his trousers. When she reached this boundary, a quivering sensation erupted within the depths of his stomach. He looked up at her and found her gaze transfixed on her own hand. She seemed uncertain of what to do next, almost as unsure as he was. Was he meant to urge her on, or should he guide her away from the matter in a comforting way?

He was saved from the decision, though, when she leaned forward, pushing him back onto the couch as she crawled onto his lap. She straddled his thighs, and he cupped her face between his hands, letting his fingers thread their way into her hair. He feathered touches down her neck then, gliding over her shoulders and down her arms to cuff her wrists. Cedric moved her hands to his chest, just over his heart. He kept his eyes on hers as she watched his every move. Her perplexed, but excited expression made him think of a child learning to fly a broom: So afraid to fall, but eager to soar higher.

Diggory kept her hands pinned over his heart with one of his own as the other reached up to lightly grab the back of her neck. He pulled her down and brushed his lips softly over her own, causing her eyes to drift close. When he pulled back from the gentle meeting of their lips, he felt her breath, warm and sweet, tingling his skin. Her fingertips twitched under his palm, against his chest, so he lightened his hold.

He frowned when she pulled her hands away from his, but before he could protest, she was burying her digits in his hair. Her mouth found his again; this time in a much deeper kiss. And as she locked lips with him, Hermione pressed herself closer. Cedric's arms snaked around her waist in response, holding tightly and giving the impression that he wanted to squeeze her so close that she would melt into him.

When the embrace relaxed and both paused to catch their breath, Hermione found it hard to hear anything over the roar of blood in her ears. However, even if she could hear anything aside from their breathing, she doubted she could concentrate. At that moment, she was experiencing a fevered desire that flushed her skin and gave her butterflies, which hungered for his touch and danced with delight when their hunger was met with even the simplest caress. A fire prickled in every pore and follicle and on every surface of her body, and it even filled her stomach with an itching, burning sweetness.

She leaned forward, and as she did, she felt his need reciprocated. It made her heart pound to think that she had aroused him in that manner, but at the same time, it gave her pleasure to know she had that kind of feminine wile and power.

Her breath skimmed his ear as she filled her lungs with his scent. She practically purred when his hands gripped the bottom of her shirt and began dragging it up slowly to expose her pale, milky skin. His knuckles, slightly calloused, sent shivers up her spine as they mildly scraped the soft skin of her sides. After he pulled her shirt away completely, she smiled inwardly with the way she felt so exposed, but still so comfortable.

He decorated her back with a tingling trail left by his fingertips as he traced his way from her sides, upward, along her spine, and over her shoulders. His breath scorched her neck and shoulder as he leaned closer and kissed her collarbone. She tilted her head to the left to allow him more access for whatever he was going to do next. She felt his minute smile against the crook of her neck, where the muscles were pulled taut and bound with anxiety. He released that anxiety easily, though, with smooth and delicate motions that seeped into her skin and spiraled down to the pit of her stomach to feed the fire raging there.

When she quivered at the kiss he placed on her jaw, he smirked. It was obvious to him that he was in control here. And with that realization, a question came into his mind: Had she ever been shown love like this? The answer did not matter to him, however, because even if she had, he was going to show her more. In his estimation, they were going to slip pleasingly into heaven, and that was a place he knew neither of them had been before.

His pause for contemplation left her partially frustrated, so she wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled her body flush with his. Her skin meshed with his perfectly, but the satisfaction she felt was not in having his bare chest against her scantly clothed one. It was brought about by the friction of his confined erection against a place no guy had been. Her gasp and the tensing of his muscles told them both that there was no stopping now.

Cedric gripped her hips to keep her from shifting again; he did not know that he could handle having her move like that. His arousal was past anything he had been introduced to before, and it was slowly progressing towards agonizing.

Hermione frowned when he prevented her from attaining the pleasure she was seeking, but she was not going to be stopped just like that. She gathered his hair roughly in her fists and kissed him passionately, hoping to distract him so he would release her. Yet that was not the response she got.

Instead, Diggory's hands glided up her petite curves and brushed over her breasts, which were still hidden under a thin layer of plain cotton. He tucked his fingers beneath the straps on her shoulders and pulled them away. She followed his lead and slipped her arms free from the straps as he cupped her breasts. A shiver rippled through her as his thumbs teased her nipples for just a second before he slid his hands around to her back and undid her bra clasp.

The flimsy fabric fell away, and he tossed it aside before pushing her off his lap and into the seat next to him. He guided her back onto the pillow, and she pulled him with her, bringing his bare skin back to hers as he eased down onto her. His lips met hers again in tenderness while she arched her pelvis towards him. A groan escaped him, and she knew she was headed down the right path.

Just before she could wrap her legs around him, though, he began trailing kisses down her neck and across her collarbone. His lips moved lower, between her breasts, and further down to her belly. Her fingers wound themselves in his hair as his teeth grazed the sensitive skin near the bottom of her ribs and across her abdomen. His tongue danced up her stomach, between her breasts, and over her right nipple, which evoked a tiny gasp from her. Cedric moved back down to her stomach once more, his breath warming the creamy skin of her body. He stopped next to her bellybutton and placed a kiss there before sitting up.

He studied her for a moment, admiring the way her hair fanned out over his pillow and the way the sputtering candle's light bathed her milky skin. His eyes met hers, which were heavy-lidded and glazed with lust, and he saw a pleading beneath their chocolate irises. It was a simple request, actually; an appeal to love her both passionately and delicately. He vowed to himself to do that for her as he grabbed the hem of her pants and pulled them away with her underwear, discarding them on the floor next to the coffee table.

Her face flushed with the realization that she was completely exposed, but he did not see it as the candle finally died with a sizzling sound and left them in darkness. She sat up then, putting her nakedness out of her mind, and reaching for his abdomen in the dark. Her fingers ran the length of the scar, stirring a notion in her of its meaning. To her, it was like a testament of his devotion to her. It was a physical, tangible vow of his care and concern for her. Surely no man could sacrifice himself bodily like that and not feel something for the lady he did it for. With that thought, she knew she had to show him her affection in an equal way, and that was to give him something she could give no one else.

Hermione hooked her fingers on his pants and pulled them down with trembling hands. He helped her remove them entirely before grabbing her wrists and pinning her palms to his chest once again. He willed the beating of his own heart to steady her shaking and nerves. When he released her wrists, she placed a single kiss on his chest and laid back, waiting patiently for his body to cover her. Rather than follow her lead, though, he grabbed her knee and leaned down, kissing the inside of it. His mouth traveled in a torturously slow fashion, leaving kisses in a random way as he drew closer to the inner crook of her leg.

Her fingers found their way into his tangled locks once more and tried to assert some control over the situation. Nonetheless, she was helpless still as his hands slid up her thighs. A gasp issued from her when his thumb brushed her most private area. He smiled against her leg and continued to kiss her, moving from her inner thigh to her hip, where he nipped her gently. He did not waste too much time there, though, and went further up her side. He flicked his tongue over her nipple again and scraped his teeth on her collarbone.

Her breath came in pants and little aspirations of desire, which excited him even more greatly. Cedric dropped two final kisses on her jaw and her lips before easing himself down between her legs. She held her breath as he stared directly in her eyes and guided himself inside of her. A gasp left her just before she bit down on her bottom lip and winced.

"Should I stop?" he whispered when he felt her body tense, concern emanated from his tone. He smoothed a hand over her left temple, trying to soothe her as much as himself. He did not wish to hurt her.

"No," was her only reply as she wrapped her arms around his neck, entangled her legs in his, and kissed his jaw.

He brushed a kiss on her right temple while he pulled back slowly and then thrust softly inside her once again. With each stroke, the pain lessened and their hearts beat a faster rhythm. Hermione tried to keep her utterances of pleasure as quiet as she could, and she succeeded many times by muffling her cries with his kisses.

The tightening of the muscles inside of her told him that she was close to climax, which he was happy to know because he knew he was not far from plummeting from the peak himself. Her legs wrapped closer around his legs and her body arched into his as he pushed deeper each time, lengthening each thrust. On his last stroke, a sharp intake of breath left her lips, and she whimpered his name as they came together.

He lowered himself lightly down onto her, his head resting on the pillow neck to hers. He kissed her cheek and listened to her battling to catch her breath again, just as he was. He was utterly exhausted, and it seemed she was, too, as she traced abstract little patterns on his shoulder and closed her eyes.

"As content as I would be to stay like this and go to sleep, we probably should not," Diggory advised huskily while propping himself up on his elbow to look down at her peaceful face in the dark.

"I agree entirely," she muttered sleepily. "But I don't know that I could move even if your parents came down those stairs right now."

"Good thing they aren't going to," he laughed. He pressed his lips to her brow and then the tip of her nose before grabbing his wand off of the end table. "Lumos." Soft light penetrated the dark, imitating moonlight in the night. He glanced at the clock on the mantle and was pleasantly surprised to see that no one would be rising for at least another three hours. "I suppose it wouldn't hurt to stay like this a little while longer," he conceded, but the only answer he got was the almost inaudible sound of her slowed breathing. "Sweet dreams, love," he whispered just before extinguishing his wand and settling down for a nap.

* * *

Roden walked down the darkened hallways, his destination the basement. He could not believe he had been so stupid. The answer he sought had come to him in a dream. He was astonished that it had taken him so long to figure out where Hermione had gone. The solution had been under his nose the whole time. Where else would she have gone with Diggory except for school? His home, of course!

Avery wrenched open the basement door and was greeted with the sight of two children-sized Inferi sitting on the stairs. They scratched at the air and hissed, wrinkling their decaying little noses. Roden ignored them, though, as he lit his wand and descended into the stench-filled quarters. He glanced about before finding the female Inferi that he sought.

Her youthful face glared back at him as he brandished his wand in her direction. He commanded her to step before him, and she did as she was requested, although there seemed to be some reluctance in her movements. Controlling Inferi had always been a difficult thing, almost as troublesome as putting someone under the Imperius Curse, but Roden was getting the hang of it.

"Tell me where Amos Diggory lives," Avery demanded. "I know you know, so do not pretend to be dumb." She merely sneered at him, though, before spitting at his feet. "Fine... You want to play mute? Then you will know my wrath like never before!"

He jerked his wand in her direction, and she stiffened, her already-tough demeanor becoming even more loathsome-looking. Her hand shook violently as it reached up toward her own ear. When she finally reached it, she grabbed her lobe tight between her rotting fingers and began tugging downward.

Avery watched in sick pleasure as the Inferi of Amanda Pontner slowly and painfully ripped off her own ear. A scream ripped from her lips before she dropped to the basement floor and began writing the address of the Diggory residence in her own blood across the stone.

When she had finished, she slunk back from the wand's sphere of light and curled up in a remote corner away from the other Inferi and Roden. He stared in her direction for a moment before turning to what she had written. He grinned as he memorized the lines before ascending the steps, leaving the living dead creatures to fester in his basement for a while longer.

"Elf!" Avery bellowed as he stormed down the corridor to the kitchen.

"Yes, Master?" squealed the elven slave as he came barreling out from an unused cupboard in the corner, which served as his makeshift bedroom.

"Prepare breakfast and then ready my hunting supplies."

"What will the Master be huntings?" inquired the fearful creature. He did not want to deal with any more foul beings in the house. He already hated feeding raw and rancid meat to the Inferi in the basement.

"Redcaps," Roden replied as he headed back to his room to dress for the day.


	28. First Glimpse

**A/N:** First, I must say I went through about ten different titles for this chapter before settling on this one... And I'm still not fully satisfied with it. But I suppose it's not really the chapter title, but the chapter content that matters. Although the ignorance and uncreativeness of the title still bother me deeply...

Enough of my whining, though. On with the thank you part. Thanks to: _pottersgirl91, Dramione-Fan 17, Lizzy Evans, Rachelli, I'm home, Tecumseh Dean, CheshireCat23, AriesPrincess-Slyffindor, dragon junkie, _and _CT1994._ You have been patient with me, and I cannot tell you how much that means. You encouragements are held in the highest regards as well, my loves!**  


* * *

Chapter 28 – First Glimpse**

Cedric rolled over and stretched, trying to warm his muscles and remove the stiffness that the couch had enforced upon him. He rubbed his eyes groggily and sat up slowly, squinting at the bright light that reflected off the dazzling blanket of snow outside. Looking to the clock, Cedric tried to see through the sleep in his eyes. He stared hard before hearing his mother's laughter coming from the direction of the kitchen.

It was like someone had struck him with a not-so-healthy bolt of electricity. His heart slammed against his chest and the feeling that someone was dowsing him in ice cold water washed over his skin. His eyes darted to his pillow, but the soft, brown curls he expected to see were not there. In fact, Hermione was nowhere in sight. And what was more, he was fully clothed once again. He had not went to bed this way. Or had he? Had last night only been a distant dream? Diggory could have sworn that it had been real. He remembered specifically that she had came downstairs and that they had...

He rose from the sofa and trudged toward the kitchen, bleary eyed and completely dazed. He peeked in, surveying the scene of his mother cooking while his father sat at the table, sipping coffee and listening to his wife hum carols.

"Morning, sweetheart," Mrs. Diggory beamed as she swished her wand at a frying pan beside her. Sausage links rose, still sizzling, from the pan and arranged themselves neatly on a plate next to a heaping stack of bacon. "I thought that you were going to sleep the morning away."

"Has Hermione been down yet?" Cedric asked in an unergetic tone.

"Not yet," his mother replied as she grabbed a bowl and began scooping scrambled eggs into it from yet another frying pan. "You should go and wake her so that you can eat breakfast while it's hot," she added as the sound of racing feet thundered down the living room stairs. "And tidy up the couch, too," she added as two identical, mussy children slipped into the kitchen and took a seat at the table next to Mr. Diggory. "Grandma and Grandpa and the rest of the family are coming in this morning."

Cedric nodded and turned his back on the kitchen where his mother began dishing out breakfast for her cousin's children as she beamed at them cheerfully. He walked in a trance to the sofa and began folding the blankets and sheets. He picked up his pillow and laid it on top of the stack of linens before noticing the solitary hair that rested on its surface. It was way too long to be his hair and the telltale wave of it made him smile. So he had not imagined last night.

His eyes glanced up to the second landing as the smile turned into a smirk that stretched the width of his face. He gathered up his bedding and jogged up the steps to his room, knocking when he arrived outside of it. When no answer came after a moment or two, he knocked again and turned the knob.

It was unlocked, so he peered inside to find Hermione still in bed, her figure wrapped snugly in the comforter. He crossed the room silently, knowing exactly where to step so that the floor would not creak under his footfalls. When he stopped beside the bed, he gazed down at her with a growing itch of possessiveness. Cedric found that he liked the idea of her being snuggled in his sheets. He enjoyed the thought of her peaceful sleep being shared with _his_ bed. His fingers brushed back a strand of hair from her face as he knelt down beside her.

Her hair was damp, as though she had showered not long ago, and this made him curious. Why would she shower and return to bed? Unless...

Diggory glanced back over his shoulder to check the bedroom door. It was slightly ajar, but the only noise outside of it was the distant chatter from the kitchen downstairs. He pulled out his wand and aimed it at the door, causing it to shut gently and lock with only a tiny, almost inaudible click. He returned his attention to Hermione's sleeping figure.

Tucking his fingers in the folds of the comforter, he lifted it back slowly so he did not disturb her. His heart pounded against his chest, but he was not sure what he expected to see. When her plain grey T-shirt came into view, his eyes darted back to her face. Her eyes were still shut and her breathing was still easy and soft. Her face was passive, the expression of dreamers written delicately on her features. He looked back to her shirt then and found himself thinking for a second.

She had not been wearing those clothes when she went upstairs last night. However, when she had come back downstairs, she had been wearing them. He specifically recalled removing that same garment from her when they had...

Diggory grinned inwardly and shifted his position to sit on the bed next to her. He caressed her cheek with the back of his fingers before placing a soft peck on her left temple.

"Wake up," he whispered, causing her to shut her eyes even more tightly. "C'mon," he continued to urge. "Rise and shine, love."

Hermione opened her left eye somewhat and peeked at him through her lashes. She was not usually one to sleep in or have trouble getting up in the mornings, but she was feeling unusually tired. Her body ached in protest of the movement she was making as she rolled from her right side to her back. She grabbed at the covers and jerked them over her head, feeling a stiffness in her thighs and lower back that had not been there when she had went to sleep. However, she did not need to guess long at why she was sore.

"I don't think so," Cedric chuckled as he fisted the comforter in his hands and yanked it away. The rush of chilly air made Hermione shiver, so she huddled up, drawing her legs into her chest as she sat up. "Mom's got breakfast on. Get dressed and come downstairs, okay?"

"Cedric," Hermione drawled slowly as he stood and approached his wardrobe to grab his clothes for the day. Her tone stopped him mid-stride, and he turned to face her with an apprehensive stare. His calm, stoic mask did nothing to hide the misgiving in his eyes. He knew what she was about to say, but she said it anyways. "We need to talk... Something... something significant happened last night," she stated, struggling to find the words that would both protect her, but also convey that she did not regret a moment of the beauty she had shared with him. "We cannot just go about playing at everything as though nothing happened and all is normal."

"I know," he muttered, ruffling his hair as he usually did when he was searching for the right words to say.

She had known him such a short time, really, yet she knew that signal. He was trying to put the right words together so that he would not screw things up or offend her. Did that mean he was trying to find a way to let her down easy without crushing her or making the rest of her stay with him awkward? Nerves balled themselves up and began bouncing around in her stomach as she watched him come back to the bed. He sat down and stared at his lap for a moment before shaking his head and shrugging his shoulders.

"I think it's safe to say that we are both mutually attracted to one another," he fumbled as he gazed at his knees as though he were truly seeing them for the first time. Her tone when she said that they needed to talk had sounded almost regretful, so he was not sure how to broach the subject without making a lovesick fool of himself.

_Here it comes_, her brain kept screaming as she waited for him to say something more. _The cheesy let-me-down-gently_ _line_. _Maybe I should just save him the trouble._

"Cedric, I won't be crushed if you—"

"It's obvious that I feel something for you, I should think," he interjected, turning his attention fully to her now. "How do you feel about me, though?" He felt silly the moment the question had left his mouth. He knew—judging by last night—that she felt _something_ for him. A girl like Hermione did not just fall into bed with every guy she came in contact with, after all. Still, he needed to hear her put it into words so that he could gauge the depth of her affection for him and be sure that she did not think she had made a mistake.

She was taken aback by his question. Hermione had been expecting him to say something more along the lines of 'you're nice and everything, but I don't think this is a good idea'. She gaped at him for a moment, fidgeting with the hem of the sheets as she tried to formulate something intelligible to say.

"Hermione?" he prompted. "It's a simple question: Do you or do you not feel for me as I do for you?"

"How do you feel for me?" she whispered, sounding half dazed.

"I put up with you as my roommate." This earned him a roguish glare. "I've taken a cursed letter for you. I've come to your rescue more than once. I forced myself upon you and your family for the holidays," here she smiled faintly. "And I've brought you home to meet my family... I should think it's obvious how I feel about you," Cedric voiced as he leaned forward, his face only inches from hers.

"I take it that means you won't be trying to correct your mother for the duration of our stay when she refers to me as your girlfriend?" Hermione snickered, holding his amused gaze with her own doe-like one.

"Unless you want me to continue to tell her that you're not my girlfriend..."

"I do rather like seeing you blush when you get all frustrated and tell her to stop," she chuckled.

"I don't blush," he retaliated playfully as he narrowed his eyes on her in diversion.

"Oh, but you do! The most lovely shade of crimson. Reminiscent of a cranberry, really," she teased.

"A cranberry?" he scoffed in mock outrage as he began tickling her.

Her squeals and gasps of laughter carried through the room as she thrashed about, trying to get away from him. He soon had her pinned beneath him, though, and he could not help but admire the way her face—even though it was flushed and her hair was matted around it—was radiating beauty in the morning light. Her heartbeat quickened, but not because they had been coltishly rolling about on his bed. The way he watched her made her face glow with heat that stirred not only at the surface of her cheeks, but elsewhere, too.

She glanced away from him, her cheeks burning hotter when his face lowered to hers. His kisses rained down on her neck and along her jawline before feathering across her cheek to the corner of her mouth. His lips were positively expert in the way that they touched hers and drew a little sigh from her.

"Get dressed," he advised through burly tones, dragging himself away from her before he got in too deeply to draw back. "After breakfast we can go visit the Weasleys."

Her face lit up in an entirely different way this time. It was not embarrassment, exertion, or need that brought a glimmer to her skin now. Rather, it was anticipation and excitement to see her friends.

* * *

"Do you see this candle, vermin?" Avery snarled at his servant as he grabbed a fistful of the elf's tattered garment. It tore fully, the holes connecting themselves with lines of split fabric, and the elf dropped with a dull thud to the floor. He was scrambling to his feet when Roden grabbed his upper arm and hoisted him into the air once more. "Do you see it?" he barked again.

"Yes! Yes!"

"When I Disapparate, you are to light this candle." Here the miniscule creature nodded fervently, wincing as his arm wrenched in his master's crushing grasp. "Keep an eye on the candle. When it burns green, gather the Red Caps from the attic and prepare to send them to me." At this, the elf whimpered and glanced fearfully to the ceiling, his chin quivering with anxiety. Roden growled and shook his servant, bringing attention back to himself. "When the green flame changes to black, be sure that all ten Red Caps are secured to one another and Apparate to somewhere that cannot be traced back to this home. Do you understand?"

"Mmhmm!" the elf whined in an undertone as tears swam into his vision. His bandaged and calloused fingers were going numb from Avery's vicious, circulation-cutting grip.

"Once you reappear, create a Portkey that will send the Red Caps wherever I am. Got me? I've even left the address of where I should be here," he pointed out as he tapped his fingertip on a piece of paper on the table.

"But the Ministries require Portskeys to be—"

"Did I ask about the Ministry?" bellowed Roden in furious fervor. "Did I?" The elf wailed and shook his head violently from side to side. "Don't give me a hard time. It will take them longer to trace your magic because they don't care about filth like you. Besides, elven magic is under different regulations... so you just worry about getting all of those Red Caps transported to me in a timely and proper fashion, eh?"

Avery shook the tiny, shabby butler for good measure before releasing his arm and watching him descend painfully to the floor in a heap. Roden gathered his coat from the dining room table and tossed it on carelessly. He seized his wand and the twin to the candle that was now resting crookedly in the tarnished, rose gold holder.

Hermes struggled slowly to his battered, bare feet, not daring to look up at his master with watery eyes. The elf massaged the spot on his arm where bruises that mimicked Roden's fingers were already forming. He winced when a crack like a branch breaking from a large, old tree flooded the room and echoed in his ears. Pointing a finger, he made the candle's wick come alight with a small, light orange flicker. Hermes pulled a chair close to the dining room table, his nose brushing the edge of it while his eyes stayed trained on the dancing flame.

* * *

"Fireworks? For Christmas Eve?" Cedric repeated skeptically as he sat at the kitchen table of the Burrow.

George Weasley was sitting across the table from his old schoolmate, a far-off twinkle in his eye as he said, "Fred would have agreed... We enjoyed putting off Whiz-Bangs for everything!"

"But for Christmas?" Diggory intoned incredulously. "Sounds a bit..." Here he trailed off, not sure of what to say. He did not want to offend George's ideals of what Fred would have agreed with.

"Different," Hermione supplied as she came up behind Cedric and placed her hands on his shoulders. He glanced up at her, feeling a stitch of relief to see her eyes alight with genuine happiness.

"Fred and I always were different," George chuckled as Angelina swept in the room with Ron trailing behind her. "You'll see... We're going to have the best Christmas party Ottery St. Catchpole has ever seen!"

"You are coming, right?" Ron piped up as he looked at Hermione. "Mum's been mad with worry about you, so she'll want you here."

"Is it all right with you?" Hermione inquired of Diggory, her eyes gazing down upon him with delicate fondness.

Cedric did not even need to think about his answer for more than a fraction of a second. Hermione was happy while she was with the Weasley family, so that is where he would have her for the remainder of the holiday break. They would spend some time with his family Christmas morning, of course, but he wanted her to spend as much time here as possible.

Besides, for as safe as she was at his home under the watchful eyes of his father, who was an Auror, and himself, an Auror in training, Hermione was even safer here. All of the Weasley family had participated in the second war against Voldemort in some way; they had all proved their skills as competent fighters. And what was more, they loved Hermione as a member of the family, so she would be well looked after, regardless.

"I wouldn't miss those fireworks for a second."

"Don't mock me, Cedric," George grinned with a wagging finger. "It's going to be the most spectacular display of yuletide pyrotechnics that anyone has ever seen!"

"We know, we know," Angelina sighed as she leaned back against the counter and gazed at the back of George's red head.

"If it's anything like our fifth year when Umbridge was teaching," Ron put in with a sinister sort of snicker.

They all recalled the scene well. Hogwarts had been overrun with magical fireworks, swamps, Stink Pellets, Dungbombs, and all sorts of unmanageable creations for mischief. And for many of them, the image of Peeves saluting the twins as they prepared to ride off into the sunset was burned in their brains forever. The Weasley twins had been immortalized on the day that they set out away from Hogwarts in a blaze of glory as bright as the fading rays from the sun. However, none remembered it quite so well as George, who had a whole different perspective on it, which was why he knew he needed to carry on his work and the work of his brother in new ways. So yuletide fireworks made perfect sense.

"It's going to be better than that even," George muttered in a warm, reminiscent way.

"Then we had better all get some sleep," Angelina advised, a tear in the corner of her eye as she pushed away from the counter and ruffled George's hair between her fingers.

"We really should be getting back, too," Hermione agreed as she gave Cedric's shoulders a light squeeze. He took this as his cue and rose from his seat, leaving part of the Irish Cream cocoa in his mug as he turned to face her.

Across the room, Ron's eyes locked on the pair and studied them carefully. He and Hermione might have gone their separate ways romantically, but she was still one of his very best friends, so he worried about her. She did not need Cedric toying with her emotions and jumbling the thoughts in her head while she had some maniac after her.

"I'll send Pig with you," Ron informed, interrupting the moment when their eyes locked and their fingers entwined. "You can send him back when you reach Cedric's house safely... that way we know you made it without trouble."

"That's not necessary," Hermione protested as she tore her gaze from Cedric and glanced at her red-haired friend. "It's too cold for him anyways. He's too tiny."

"We can send my family's owl," Diggory offered, trying to keep the peace as Ron's eyes narrowed. "Or better yet, we could use the Floo. Hermione can send a message the moment we walk in the front door."

"I think that would be best," Angelina spoke up, ending all conversation as George opened the back door to walk Hermione and Cedric outside. She deposited some mugs in the sink and set the dishrag to wash them, even though she knew Molly would pull them out of the cupboard in the morning and inspect them when she and Arthur returned from Shell Cottage with Bill and Fleur.

"I'll go keep the fire going, then," Ron grumbled as he trudged off towards the living room, waving half-heartedly to his friend and Diggory before disappearing from the kitchen.

"He'll perk up and stop being a wanker tomorrow," George assured them. "After all," he grinned naughtily, "how could anyone stay huffy with the show I've got planned?"

At the sink, Angelina rolled her eyes and sighed heavily, grumbling something about wishing tomorrow were there already so George would shut up.

"Good night, you two," Hermione beamed as she finished buttoning the last button on her coat and let Cedric pull her out into the chilly night air.

"Bye!" they called in unison as George waved from the backdoor and Angelina waved from the window over the sink.

Diggory pulled Hermione along, the two of them waving over their shoulders as they made their way carefully over the icy, narrow, dirt driveway. They would have Apparated, but they had learned their lesson earlier that evening over the perils of Apparating in snowy weather. When they had left Cedric's house and reappeared on the backdoor step of the Burrow, Hermione had slipped on a patch of ice and nearly bruised her tailbone. So rather than run the risk of such a mishap occurring again, they figured walking the short distance would simply be safer. Not to mention, it gave them some time together. Alone.

"Don't forget to ask Ron what time we should be here tomorrow for the party," Diggory advised Hermione as they came to the end of the drive and turned onto a still narrow, but paved, country road. They stayed along the shoulder of the lane, dodging potholes filled with frozen puddles and tiny snowdrifts.

"Are you sure that it will not inconvenience any plans that your family might have? It is Christmas Eve tomorrow, after all," she said through chattering teeth as she bowed her head against a quick, unexpected breeze. It carried small, fluffy snowflakes that melted even before they touched the reddened skin of her nose and cheeks. She could not remember a Christmas yet where it had not snowed steadily at the very least when she stayed with the Weasley family.

"We won't be missed, I promise," Diggory lied. He knew his mother and father would put up some gruff about his leaving; he had never not been home for Christmas Eve, even when he had attended Hogwarts.

"You're lying," Hermione pointed out as she stopped and glanced sideways at him. "I'm a guest, Cedric; therefore, I must conform to your plans as well as those of your family. I did not agree to visit so that I could tear you away from them during one of the most important family times of the year!"

"It's fine," he chuckled in the face of her mild frustration. "We'll be with them on Christmas Day, opening presents, singing carols, and all manner of festive little celebrations." He watched her expression change from a probing one to one of perplexity.

"What's that?" she asked urgently, her eyes boring into his as her expression became more strained.

"What's what? Opening presents or singing carols? Surely Muggles have that stuff," he joked. "C'mon, we can talk about this when we get home. It's freezing out, and if we take too long, Ron and the others will be sore with me. He already—"

"Shh!" Hermione commanded, her eyes now glistening with panic.

"Hermione?" Cedric uttered, reaching for her hand, but he stopped when he heard the sound, too.

It was distant, but growing steadily closer. It was almost as though someone were beating a wooden block with a butcher's knife, like they were hacking and hacking at something. The wind gave a howl through the trees around them, knocking snow from deadened branches and drowning out the noise for a moment. But when the sound of the hardy breeze died away, the beating hack came back louder than before, which meant it was closer.

Diggory took a long stride towards Hermione as he jerked his wand free of his pocket. His hand clenched hers tightly as she fumbled for her own wand and turned her head this way and that in the darkness. She could have swore that she saw the red glow of a pair of eyes just as she was swallowed by the even deeper darkness of Apparition.

They reappeared with a sudden, arrhythmic pop about a half a mile away from there they had been standing before. Hermione barely had time to catch her balance before Cedric was dragging her through the almost-foot of snow in his yard. As they raced for his house, he called out for his father, his voice carrying through the night like a crystal clear chiming of a bell.

"Ced!" Mr. Diggory bellowed a second later as he wrenched open the upstairs bedroom window and gazed out with groggy, but panicked eyes. It was obvious that his son meant everything to him; more than the world, even.

"He found us!" Cedric yelled back while trying to shield Hermione with his own body.

Small, dwarf-like figures were popping up all over the yard, one after another. One, two, three, four. Hermione felt her heart race as they kept multiplying. Five, six, seven, eight. Diggory kept forcing her towards the front door as at least more than a dozen reflective, blood-red eyes followed their movement across the snowy lawn.

Just as they were mere yards from the front step, one of the elvish creatures appeared before them and made the same noise Hermione had heard earlier. It was like a wooden rod being beat against a heavy wooden block; it was unnatural and completely telltale.

"Red Caps!" Hermione cried pointing her wand past Cedric at the opposer. "_Duro!_" she cast with shaky vigor. The Red Cap froze in place, its body shimmering with a magical light for a few seconds before it faded away and revealed a grotesque, stone statue much like a demented garden gnome lawn ornament. As Hermione turned to dispel another of the now nine beasts, she saw a silhouette in the snowy moonlight. She had no doubt that this was her stalker, the very man who seemed to want nothing else but her painful, bloody death.

Before she could register what to do, a Red Cap slipped by their defenses and clawed at her thigh with stubby-nailed, fat fingers. No blood was drawn, but the raking motion still hurt and would certainly bruise later. She jumped back, awakened from her stupor as Cedric noticed the stalker now, too. He grit his teeth and felt a rage surge through him like nothing he had ever felt before.

He was not one to lose his temper. In fact, many doubted that he had the slightest of a mean streak at all. But with what he was feeling in that moment as he charged across the snow, blasting Red Caps out of his way, he knew their doubt was falsely based. He had every bit of the capacity that others did to feel rage and anger. He was just able to control it better. Until now, at least...

A snarl ripped from his lips. A primal, animalistic roar that would have reminded many of a fierce lion on the hunt. He raised his wand and pointed it at the silhouette, which had not moved yet.

"_Incarcerous!_" Cedric barked, causing thick ropes to explode from the tip of his wand and cut through the cold air towards the man, who deflected them with his own spell before sending yet another at Cedric. Diggory dropped to the ground and rolled away through the snow so that the curse whizzed harmlessly over his head. "_Locomotor Mortis!_"

The stalker was just barely able to dodge this Leg-Locking Curse. He stumbled, but never fell and then aimed his wand at Cedric once again. Diggory was already climbing to his feet and racing straight ahead just as before, though. With a strangled twist, Cedric narrowly missed being jinxed. Then he sent three spells in quick succession: a Body-Binding Curse, a Stunning Charm, and a Disarming Charm.

Hermione watched for a second, frozen in horror, but then the Red Caps were upon her again. They were picking up their stone companion and hurtling it at her. She would have been hit, but Mr. Diggory showed up just in time.

He sprinted from the front door, tackling her around the waist, and twisting in midair with her so that he broke her fall. The wind was still knocked out of her, but Amos gave her no time to catch her breath before he pushed her off of him unceremoniously and began firing spells at the approaching Red Caps.

"Cedric!" he barked into the night, his attention caught by the Red Caps. "Cedric, get back here!"

Hermione panted heavily as she scrambled up out of the snow and stood beside Mr. Diggory, fighting off the remaining seven Red Caps.

"Get inside!" he ordered her. "I will take care of this. Alert the Ministry."

She felt torn between doing what Mr. Diggory requested and aiding him and Cedric. In the end, her more heroine side won out. Instead of dashing off for the open front door, she blasted a Red Cap from her path and took off for Cedric. She tripped only once in the snow before reaching Diggory's side.

"_Protego totalum!_" she screamed, a shield of shimmering white imploding from her wand. It held for a second, blinding them as the spells that the stalker sent rebounded off of it.

"Get back!" Cedric commanded in a tone that could have rivaled the most seasoned military officer.

"No!" she argued fiercely before brandishing her wand at their attacker and yelling, "_Confringo!_"

A noise that mimicked an enormous firecracker filled the air around them, making Cedric wince. Their opposer, however, was more than ready. He deflected the spell at a tree, which exploded with such force, it were as though a missile had been launched at it. Shards of bark and pine branches rained down around them as the stump of the tree burned brightly with a raging fire.

"_Cave Inimicum!_" Cedric cast over his shoulder as he grabbed Hermione's hand and raced back for his father, who was finishing off of the last Red Cap.

Hermione caught a glimpse of the man as she was jerked along by her protector. His face was cast in deep shadows and strange orange light from the fire, which made the hollows of his cheeks even more severe. His high, jutting cheek bones and hard jawline might have been carved from the purest white alabaster, but they spoke of starvation. His gray-blue eyes were striking and mimicked chips of ice as they stared her down. His dark eyebrows and deep brown hair were colored like jet in the night and his features flickered with angry shadow.

He could have very well been the son of the Greek goddess of love, Aphrodite, herself, but the starved look made his prominent face slightly disturbing with its hard lines and protrusive angles. It would have been hard to forget such a handsome, regal appearance, but the image was burned into Hermione's brain for other reasons.

She had never seen anger etched on a face like what was written on his. She had never witnessed such dark pain in someone's eyes. And she had no clue who this man was or why he wanted her soul to rot and fester in the depths of a dark grave.


	29. Pushing Limits

**A/N and WARNING: **A long one this chapter is, so I hope that everyone enjoys it. First, however, be warned. There is smut and whatnot at the end of this chapter. If you would prefer to skip over these scenes, that is fine. Just stop reading after the final line break in the chapter, or at this line: "She walked by Cedric, her shoulder brushing his arm as she went." Anything following that line will likely be of a sexual nature. That being said, I'll give my thanks to those who reviewed the last chapter and let you get to reading!

Thank you to: _CheshireCat23, pottersgirl91, Tecumseh Dean, AriesPrincess-Slyffindor, Rachelli, Elliesmeow, Dramione-Fan 17, Lizzy Evans, ladyeire3, _and _BadWolfRising._

**

* * *

Chapter 29 – Pushing Limits**

Mrs. Diggory was standing in the living room in her festively-patterned dressing gown with her feet sheathed in cream-colored, woolen slippers. She waited beside a small, drab tent, which was no more than a gray, aged canvas stretched in a long triangular shape over a feeble-looking frame. Two metal poles at each end stood as the main supports without assistance from stakes or ropes to hold it in place. Hermione deduced that magic must have been used to keep it erected and stable because the tent appeared as though one good swing of a pillow could topple the entire structure. It crowded the living room, but it was obviously the only way to warmly and safely accommodate Cedric's extensive family, as the guest room was much too small for everyone.

Mrs. Diggory gave the crude housing one concerned glance before looking dutifully to her son and husband.

"Well?" she demanded in a forced calm.

"Silenced?" Amos inquired as he gestured with his wand at the tent and then to the steps.

Mrs. Diggory nodded and crossed her arms firmly over her chest, a graven expression rolling over her lovely features. She closed her eyes with dread as her husband stalked by her to the kitchen, his mood seething.

"Cedric!" he called, causing his wife's eyes to open wearily and rest ruefully on her son. He gave her a look that said he was bracing himself for an explosion before turning to Hermione.

"You're safe to use the Floo there. Let Ron and the rest of the Weasley lot know that you're all right and everything that happened. Tell them we'll see them tomorrow for the party still," he droned in an emotionless way before turning and skirting around his mother for the kitchen.

Hermione felt a knot tying itself in her stomach and growing with excruciating guilt. She could sense the tension and trouble waltzing in the air as Mrs. Diggory approached her soundlessly. Cedric's mother cupped Hermione's face between her hands and frowned.

"I'll bring you some hot cocoa... make your Floo connection," she sighed as she turned and joined her husband and son in the kitchen where their tones were short and harsh.

Hermione's shoulders slumped, and she glanced at the fireplace with growing remorse. She needed to contact Ron and the others before they started worrying and came looking for her. She did not want to worry them unnecessarily. However, she feared her own weak resolve. She felt that if she opened the Floo Network, she just might travel to the Burrow and not come back. She had caused so much upheaval here that she felt it really was not right for her to remain here. Yet it would be cowardly of her to run and leave Cedric like that.

Striding slowly to the hearth, Hermione grabbed the small wooden chest that kept the Floo Powder and knelt down. She pushed the black, metal fencing aside and aimed her wand at the ashen pile from the previous fire. Flames shot in a ball of heat from the tip of her wand and crepitated to life with warm vigor. Their orange glow stayed only a moment before she threw down some shimmering powder and the citrus-colored flames burned to a pale emerald.

"The Burrow," she sighed half-heartedly before sticking her head in the heat.

It took a few seconds, but the living room of the Weasley home soon took shape in front of her eyes. Ron was pacing the room, his hands clenched behind his back. The others had obviously gone off to bed, but that did not stop him from grumbling incoherently to himself.

"Ron," Hermione spoke calmly, trying to catch his attention without being too loud and startling him.

"Hermione! It's been a half hour!" he immediately roared when he realized her face was staring at him in the flames. "Where the hell have you been?" He dropped to his knees, his expression severe and outraged. "A fine time to stop off for a snog in the forest with Diggory. I was worried sicker than a mereman out of water!" he accused, not giving her time to answer. "What the bloody hell happened?"

"We were attacked, Ronald," she grumbled in exasperation. His concern would have been touching if he had not been scolding her like an errant child. It was not as though she had planned these things to happen so that she inconvenienced anyone or made them fret.

"What? Attacked?" he repeated. "Where? When?" He rocked back onto his heels and stood, gazing around the room as though he were not sure where he was. "Why didn't you send for help?"

"R.A. showed up," Hermione muttered. "Along with ten Red Caps at Cedric's house. We were almost overwhelmed, but Cedric's dad—"

"Absolutely irresponsible!" came a bellow from somewhere behind Hermione, cutting off her statement.

"Is that Amos Diggory?" Ron quizzed as he knelt down to the hearth once more.

"Yes," she breathed, feeling a rush of guilt that burnt more than the flames of the Floo ever could. "I'll explain more tomorrow," she added after a moment of more yelling from the background. "I really should go take responsibility for this and stop them from fighting."

"The party is at seven. You can come sooner, though," Ron offered, feeling sorry for his friend as he read the struggle on her face. "In fact, I'll be up for a while longer tonight, and Gin's room is free since she and Harry are with Mum and Dad at Bill's."

"Thanks, Ron," Hermione sighed, half-tempted to take him up on the offer. "I'll see everyone tomorrow." With that, she faded from the flames and found herself looking at the Diggorys' living room. She sat for a moment, her toe tips going numb from the way she was kneeling. Or was it nervousness that had her unable to feel her toes? Her palms were sweating, so it was a possibility. However, she just used the Floo and the heat could be the culprit there. Nonetheless, nothing explained the ball of nerves rolling about in her stomach.

"Did you learn _nothing_ at the academy?" Amos snarled loudly enough for Hermione to hear from her spot on the living room floor.

"Amos!" came the calm, but chiding voice of Mrs. Diggory.

Hermione rose slowly from her position and walked as soundlessly to the kitchen doorway as she could. What she saw made her feel even more chagrin than the mere idea that father was yelling at son and tearing the family apart despite the yuletide time of the year.

Mr. Diggory was position by the back door, his face blanched with disdain for his son's attitude and actions. The table was between them, and Mrs. Diggory was poised beside it, her hands clutching the back of a chair as she watched her husband and son dispute. She seemed torn between comforting her son and calming her husband. However, the conflict written on her face said that she knew if she went to one, she would only anger the other, which was not something she was aiming to do. Cedric, who was closest to Hermione, looked positively filled to the brimming point with tautness and hostility. His shoulders were stiff and his eyes were dark storm clouds under thick, furrowed brows.

"Can we not do this now, Dad?" Cedric grumbled through clenched teeth as he glanced over his shoulder and caught sight of Hermione from the corner of his eye. He had never shown disrespect for his father like this, and it surprised them all.

"I warned you that bring that _girl_ here was a bad idea!" Mr. Diggory snarled, thrusting a finger in Hermione's direction and ignoring his son's not-so-polite request.

"Amos!" Mrs. Diggory rebuked in a worry-filled and disapproving tone. She was appalled at her husband's behavior, but she knew that he only acted this way because he wanted to protect their family, especially their precious son.

"This isn't her fault," Cedric growled in retort. "And if you think otherwise... if you think she gets some joy out of being aggressed like this, that she enjoys the attention it brings, then—"

"Of course not, dear," Mrs. Diggory interrupted, giving Hermione a sympathetic look. She knew Cedric was at the exploding point when he was unable to form full, coherent sentences, so she needed to stop this row for his sake, too. Too much had been said already, and she did not like being split down the middle, so she would have to assuage the situation before something more regrettable was spoken. "No one would want that kind of attention nor wish it upon someone... Your father knows that. He is just worried about the welfare of everyone present."

"Then he shouldn't point fingers or throw blame about," Cedric snapped, not really yelling at his mother, but throwing his opinion around viciously. "Whether you like it or not," he added a moment later, his gaze boring into his father's as he spoke, "I care for her," here he gave Hermione a minute glance, "and if you cannot deal with that, then you do not truly love me as you say you do. My well-being extends to hers because of my care for her... accept that... If you cannot, then I'm only a trophy son to you, and I have no need for that superficial kind of so-called love."

Mr. Diggory's grimace faltered for a moment, his mask of ire turning to anguish. It was like watching a breeze disrupt a once motionless curtain and allowing an outsider a glimpse of some inside secret for just a second. Hermione felt sorry for him because she knew it must have been like a dagger to the heart to have your only son—your pride and joy—tell you that he thought your love was insignificant because it was based on idealization and not parental instinct and emotion.

"C'mon, Hermione," Cedric sighed, turning away from his stunned father. "Let's go to bed." He grabbed her slightly shaking hand and pulled her away from the kitchen, through the living room, and up the stairs. Once they were in his room, he shut the door and locked it, even though he had a strong feeling that no one would disturb them now that his mood was on edge like this.

"I'm sorry," Hermione said in barely more than a whisper as she watched him lean his forehead against the door.

"It's not your fault," he mumbled against the wood, closing his eyes and wishing her guilt would drift away like snow on a draft.

"But it is," she breathed, wanting nothing more than to melt into the floor. She wished then that R.A., the man she had glimpsed outside of the house only a short time ago, would come back and take her away. She prayed he would punish her severely, but not for his own sick pleasure. She felt that she needed to repent for having upset Cedric and his family.

"Let's just get some sleep," Cedric advised, turning away from the door and studying her face. "We've all had a long, tiring night. It won't change anything to dwell on what happened."

She nodded her agreement and crossed silently to her luggage, which sat on the floor of his closet. She dug around for some pajamas. Once she had some flannel sleep pants and a tank top, she started for the bedroom door, but stopped. He had already seen her unclothed, so what would be the sense in running out now? Turning back to the closet, she pulled her shirt over her head and removed her bra, conscious all the while of his eyes on her back.

His gaze was glued to her slender muscles, amazed by the narrow, barely there curves that ran along her sides from her arms down to her hips. He surveyed the slight dip in her lower back, a shallow valley before the soft rise of her bottom. He could not tear his eyes away when she pulled her jeans off and tossed them in the closet next to her suitcase. He was mildly mesmerized by the length of her legs, which were lissom and pale. He found himself wanting to know every dip, curve, twist, and crook of her body as he observed her slipping her pants on. She was immense beauty to him, and he knew that she was lovely to him because he cared for her so much. He had not lied when he told his family that they needed to accept her. If they would not, then they would surely lose him because he would go wherever she asked him to now.

When she turned to face him, her face was tinted with the supplest of rosy pinks. Even if they had slept together the night before, it still unnerved her a bit to know that he could view her with such a dazzled hunger in his gorgeous gray eyes.

Cedric rose from where he was perched on the edge of the bed. He had changed already while she was rooting around in her luggage. He grabbed her hands firmly in his and pulled her to the bed, sensing that she probably would have stood affixed to that same spot all night if he did not coax her. Pulling her down into the bed with him, he shifted the covers and then dragged her up against his body. Hermione settled her cheek against his collarbone and let him wrap his arms around her. She kept her arms folded between them, her forearms resting against his chest as his chin brushed the top of her head. She could faintly make out his heartbeat over the sound of their breathing, and she found the rhythm hypnotic. She was soon closing her eyes and would have slept peacefully if she had not seen the face of her stalker every time she closed her eyes.

* * *

Cedric awoke to find Hermione asleep in his arms. The look on her face was not one of someone who had had a good night's rest, however. In fact, her current expression was painted with a subdued torment and her eyes darted behind her eyelids, adding to the distressed aura.

He scooted closer, pulling her against him the same way he had the night before. His lips flattened the crease between her brows and willed it to remain smooth. He could feel the perspiration that formed small beads on her skin, and it worried him. What could have her looking so upset? Should he wake her or would it be better to let her wrestle things out for herself in her sleep?

Diggory gazed down at her once more and felt an overwhelming sense of dread. Was something hurting her that he could not contend with? How could he protect her in her dreams? Drawing her closer still, he squeezed her gently in his arms and tried to radiate a calmness that would permeate her slumber. He would do whatever he could to bring her peace. His feeling of caring and tenderness reached so far that he did not want her to ever leave this bed with him because she would be out of his arms then, and therefore out of his encompassing reach. Cedric also felt, in that moment, that she was not close enough, even though she was in his arms. He wanted to envelope her in his very skin. In his soul, even. He wanted to keep her safe and to himself in a way that maddened him when he thought about it. He had never felt like this about anyone else before. The feeling both amazed and terrified him. How could one person know such a depth of tenderness for another? Did she reciprocate this more-than-affectionate inkling, too?

He was mad about her, and that was that. His only concern now was her safety and her love for him.

* * *

"Be careful, please?" Mrs. Diggory pleaded as she watched her son and his girlfriend set out across the snowy yard. The tracks that had been trampled into the shin-deep whiteness from the night before were already covered over with a new blanket of icy flakes, but that did not erase the worry and concern from her mind and face. "Stay where there are dense crowds, okay?" Cedric's mom advised as the pair turned and waved at her. She forced a smile and waved back, feeling mildly nervous. Would that mad man who had appeared there last night make an attempt on their lives in the middle of a busy shopping place? "Surely not," she whispered to herself as Cedric and Hermione's image became more and more distant.

Once they were beside the road, they stopped and checked for any passersby. When they were sure the coast was clear, they pulled out their wands and were gone in the wink of an eye.

The couple reappeared in the middle of Diagon Alley, in a cramped space between two buildings that many of the wizarding folk used as a safe Apparition zone. As they stepped out into the hustle and bustle, Hermione soon began to wonder if visiting the wizarding shopping destination was such a good idea. Despite the fact that it was the early afternoon of Christmas Eve, it seemed that many witches and wizards were still trying to complete some of their shopping lists.

A mother, laden with bags and pulling a crying child along with her, almost trod on Hermione's toes, but Cedric grabbed her wrist and yanked her back against his side just in time.

"I never expected it to be this busy," Hermione muttered. "I wish we had not waited to do this now."

"Looks like we're not the only last minute shoppers," Diggory sighed as he glanced up and down the alleyway. "Where should we start?"

"How about Quality Quidditch Supplies?" she suggested. "I need to get Ginny a broom repair kit, and you can get your cousins something there."

"Good point," he agreed as he nodded and gripped her shoulders. He kept her close to him as he stepped out onto the sidewalk once more, pushing through the people in a diagonal direction. Many of the shoppers grumbled at them, barking at them to watch where they were going and glaring reproachfully.

Once inside the establishment, Hermione felt herself regretting things even more. She felt that she should have just ordered things from the Christmas catalog that had been included in the last edition of _The Daily Prophet_. However, owl post was highly busy this time of year, and it was hard to find an owl that could deliver on time as many of them were either constantly flying out packages or resting up from long trips. Snow storms brought unforeseen winds, too, that would carry an owl off course and therefore make the delivery take even longer. So Hermione was left with one choice, and that was starting and completing her shopping list in one day in Diagon Alley.

Cedric gave her an encouraging look, laced her fingers in his so that they were not split up, and let her lead the way through the packed aisles.

Store after store, from Quality Quidditch Supplies to the Magical Menagerie and then to George's shop, itself. They ticked away the hours, passing peddlers and disgruntled shoppers. And it amazed them how nasty people were despite the time of year. Hermione and Cedric even watched a fight break out in Flourish and Blott's over a children's book that actually transported the child into the scenery for a parentally allotted time.

"I think that next year I'm just going to give everyone some Galleons in an enchanted, singing card," Cedric half shouted as he leaned towards Hermione's ear. It was impossible to be heard over the commotion of the busy street and the buzz of it all was starting to give them both a headache.

"Do you want to get a glass of warm butterbeer and leave?" Hermione asked loudly as they were shoved aside by a group of unruly teenagers.

"Sure," Cedric agreed with obvious relief as he gave an involuntary shiver. They had just been pushed into the opening of Knockturn Alley, and disregarding the fact that the war with Voldemort was well over, the place still crawled with all sorts of unmentionable things. "Let's go," Diggory urged, tightening his grip on their shopping bags and Hermione's shoulders. He steered her out into Diagon Alley once more, destined for The Leaky Cauldron.

If Cedric had but just glanced behind him, he would have been filled with outrage. For only a few yards away, glaring with evident hatred was the very man that had dared to show himself to them the night before.

* * *

Roden burst into his home, infuriated by the fact that she could be so nonchalant after what he had done to her the night before. How could she just pick up her coin purse and do some shopping after he had dueled with her lover at his home less than twenty-four hours ago? Her gull and fortitude made him rage with incredulous fire.

"Elf!" he screamed viciously down the corridor. "Where are you?" His choler was reaching a peak that it had never been to before in his life. "Elf!" he bellowed again.

Hermes the elf came racing down the corridor, his tattered, soiled dishtowel underwear getting caught in the servant's door as it slid shut.

"Coming, sir!" yelled Hermes in a panic. He jerked at the towel, causing it to untie. He groaned nervously and decided to forget it as he darted up the hallway naked. "Yes, sir?" he acknowledged as he stopped before Avery and dropped to his knees in a bow.

"Where have you been?"

"I was caught in the door, sir," Hermes explained, his voice being absorbed by the runner of carpet that covered the center of the hardwood floor.

Roden sneered down at the elf with disdain and shoved him back roughly with the toe of his boot. Hermes rolled backwards, sprawling on his back in surprise. Avery grit his teeth, his patience disappearing entirely; he was not in the mood to deal with pettiness.

"Ready the Inferi," he growled.

Hermes gasped, his bottom lip quivering and his eyes going even wider in fear.

"Pl-please, s-sir," the elf begged as he scrambled away, still straggled on his back. "They is not under my control! They will eats me!" Hermes cried.

Roden truly saw red then as he roared in rage. His servant was attempting to disobey him. He was comparable to a cornered grizzly bear at that moment. With a short stride, he closed the distance the elf had put between them. His foot squashed the toes of Hermes, who cried out in pain. However, that was the wrong thing to do. His effusion of agony only made Roden even more wrathful. He raised his other booted foot and brought it down forcefully on Hermes, crushing his leg under the blow. Bone crunched, snapping audibly in the cold, dank hallway. Another scream of suffering excruciation left the elf's lips; the shrill screech grated against Roden's already frazzled nerves.

"Silence!" he ordered the whimpering servant, who was tossing about on the floor as though the more he rolled from side the side, the more pain he would relieve.

When the command was disobeyed, and Hermes proceeded to rive in pain, Avery reached quickly into his pocket and withdrew his wand. In a blind fury, he turned the tool on his servant and spat an Unforgivable Curse.

"_Crucio!_"

The air crackled with power and magic as the elf's screams grew louder in octave. His voice peaked and cracked as his body went taut, stiffening into a plank-like position as he struggled against the pain. Seeing this display of agony did nothing to sate Roden's ferocity, though. Foam gurgled and extravasated from the mouth of Hermes as little rivulets of blood seeped from his crooked, mismatched nostrils. Overcome with the pain, his body abandoned its strained state and began to convulse as the muscles went into shock.

Avery, despite witnessing this gruesome display, was still not satisfied. His need for destruction and devastation was still not quenched. There was just something that was not tending to his desire for bloodlust and pain affliction. Magic was not enough. Or so he decided as he lifted the curse and watched for a moment as Hermes twitched and threshed.

Eyes rolling to the back of his head every few seconds, the elf released a weak moan of relief. He could feel his life clinging to his body. His breath was labored and his mind kept slipping in and out of coherency. He thanked his lucky stars that his master relinquished punishment and was going to leave him alone. From now on, he would never be more than a mere hair's breadth away from Avery. Hermes vowed to himself that this would be the last time that he gave his master reason to punish him. And if it was not, then he was not entirely certain that he could escape his next penalization with his breath still in his lungs and his heart beating.

Roden glared down with disdain upon the creature that was panting and fighting for consciousness. The look of relief and gratefulness on his labored face only served to enrage Avery all over again.

Dropping to his knees, Roden hovered over the elf, who suddenly became aware of his master. He was too weak to fight as Avery lifted the creature by his shoulders and began to shake him roughly. The elf's head bobbed violently, snapping back and forth until his neck burned with the pain of whiplash. The only thing that stopped his head's from its afflictive bouncing motion was Avery's hands, which clamped around the neck of Hermes.

Roden could feel all of his choler rushing down his arms and coiling in his fingers. He squeezed tighter, watching the color change on the elf's face. He decided then that Muggles did have one thing right, and that was their method of torture and ferocious hostility. It expressed so much, released so much, and it certainly repleted his stores of anger and desire for vengeance with amazing expertise.

His hands acted as a snake with its prey then, squeezing muscle and constricting airways. Hermes rasped and saliva pooled in his gaping mouth before sloshing down his cheeks. The trachea began to give under Roden's intense pressure, and Hermes gave one last aspiration before it finally collapsed. His chest heaved, trying to draw in air that would not pass his through his throat from his mouth to his panicked lungs.

Roden kept his hands around the elf's neck, his knuckles white from the magnitude of his grip. He watched with clenched teeth as the life left his servant's eyes. He did not release his grip until he was certain he did not feel blood pulsing beneath the skin of the elf.

Rubbing his hands on his sides, Avery stood and stared down at the body of Hermes. Reaching down beside the limp creature, he picked up his wand that he had dropped on the carpet upon kneeling. He aimed the tool at the dead creature and narrowed his eyes. He was going to strike a blow at Hermione Granger by using something she cared about most, and that was house-elves.

* * *

"Ginny?" Hermione called as she left the living room where Charlie and the friend he had brought home for Christmas were talking to Bill and Fleur under Mrs. Weasley's watchful and excited eye. The sparkle that danced merrily within her orbs was more than an ecstatic feeling for having everyone home on the holiday, it was due to the prospect of seeing her second eldest son finally settling down with someone. However, Charlie and his companion denied any relationship that was not platonic.

"Yeah?" Ginny called back from the kitchen where she was seeing to refreshments and baked snacks. She fanned herself with an oven mitt and blew stray strands of hair from her face.

"Do you have any tape for this package? The wrapping keeps coming undone," Hermione complained in mild disappointment as she smoothed the flap of the rectangular package she was holding. "The clerk was in such a hurry that he didn't properly see to it that his spell for wrapping was cast correctly." Irritation crept into Hermione's tone as she recalled the cashier of mid-twenty and his carelessness.

"There should be some tape upstairs in Mum and Dad's room... Mum was wrapping gifts up there this morning," the redhead informed as Harry, Ron, and Mr. Weasley came trooping in from outside.

They shook the enormous flakes of snow from themselves while stomping clumps of frozenness from their boots. Each of them grabbed a steaming mug of cocoa and held it to their wind-reddened faces. Their noses were reminiscent of cherries and their cheeks nearly chapped from the blustery weather that was whipping around outside.

"Got some more wood ready for the fire," Mr. Weasley commented nonchalantly as he watched his youngest son shovel cookies into his mouth.

"Don't you think you should save some for everyone else?" Harry suggested in a disbelieving whisper as Ginny gave Ron a scandalized glare. No matter how long they had all known him, it still amazed them that Ron could stuff his mouth so full.

"Disgusting," Hermione mumbled as she shook her head and turned towards the hallway that lead to the stairs. She took her leave then, jogging briskly down the corridor and up the aged staircase. Its creaking moans following her every footfall as her heart rate increased mildly. She slowed her jog as she came to the third floor landing and was just about to pick her pace back up to ascend the remaining flight of stairs when someone exited the lavatory and ran right into her. "Oh!"

Cedric wrapped an arm sturdily around Hermione's waist as she tottered backwards and almost toppled down the steps. The package crushed between them, drawing another little utterance from Hermione, who shoved away from Diggory quickly. She turned the box over and over, checking the wrapping paper, which was now crumpled and torn at the corners.

"Sorry," Cedric mumbled, looking abashed as his brow furrowed from frown lines that also sagged the corners of his mouth.

"I'm sure Mrs. Weasley has another gift box that I can use," Hermione shrugged as she tore away the rest of the paper and lifted the tissue-garbed item from its vessel.

She walked by Cedric, her shoulder brushing his arm as she went. He felt a tingle radiate from the spot of contact, and he smiled as he reached for her hand. He wanted a moment alone with her; he had not had her to himself all day long. When Hermione turned to face him, he took the tissue-encased gift and laid it gently upon the floor. Her expression was one of bewilderment as she watched him straighten his stance and pull her close.

Laughter drifted up from below, and Hermione could easily pick out Mr. and Mrs. Weasley, Bill, Charlie, Fleur, and Ginny's cadences. They were either the highest in pitch or the deepest and loudest and rang out above others. Just hearing their merriment and feeling Cedric's arms encircling her made a smile bubble up through her chest and curve her lips.

"Happy Christmas," she managed before his thumb traced the sheer lines of her jaw, chin, and bottom lip. It was a loving gesture that warmed her. So much so, in fact, that she felt like it was melting her bones.

Diggory watched her close her eyes and the corner of his mouth quirked; he knew then that he had control. However, that control teetered on the edge of insanity as her breath sheathed his thumb in heat. He leaned forward and kissed each eyelid before feathering kisses on the rise of her cheeks, to either side of her nose.

"Happy Christmas to you, too," he whispered, his hands cupping her face.

Her eyes remained closed as he pressed his lips to hers, tenderly at first and then with increasing need. She matched his movements, not in vigor, but in anticipation. It was as though she knew his every move before he would make it. Nonetheless, he disproved that when he released her face from his gentle cupping, shaking her hands from his wrists, and grasped her hips. He pushed her in a circular motion, trading spots with her in a mock dance until she was backed against the wall. Her hands found his chest then as she tried to reassert some fraction of control, but he would not tolerate any semblance of equality.

His fingers cuffed her wrists, pulling her arms away from him. He pinned her hands against the wall above her head with his own as he continued to assail her with sweet, maddening kisses.

Hermione could barely breathe when he relented. Her eyes snapped opened, and she instantly gazed into Cedric's own irises, which were no longer their normal soft, friendly gray, but a reflection of a dark, storm-filled sky. She was slightly stunned by the shining appearance of urgency in his gaze and even more surprised when he released her hands and grasped her thighs. Her arms had gone numb from the slow, upward flow that her blood had struggled to make, so she had barely the strength to protest when he lifted her from the ground. Eyes wide and breath stolen by shock, she locked her arms the best she could around his neck for balance. She found herself seated by her inner thighs against his hips and her back pressed fully to the wall behind her. His left hand still gripped her thigh as the right fought its way around her lower back and held her stomach against his ribs.

Diggory put his nose against her collarbone and drew in her scent. It was cinnamon spice, sweet sugar cookies, warm vanilla, and a hint of tangy pine from the tree she had sat next to in the living room. The mixture of aromas made him crave her, want to taste her skin to see if the surface that was flushed from pulsing blood was as delectable as it smelled. He lifted his nose, brushing the tip from her collarbone to the corner of her jaw, just below her ear. His teeth grazed her neck and left the skin there feeling as though it were on fire from his breath and his contact.

Hermione shut her eyes again, closing them tighter than before. Her stomach twisted wildly, giving her the sensation that she was plummeting from a high precipice. If she did not know better, she would say that her gut was now sitting downstairs in the living room, in the center of all the celebration. How could he elicit such a stirring from her with such a small, unthought gesture?

"Cedric," she whispered, her voice squeaking in an unintended fashion. "We should stop this... What if someone comes upstairs?" she asked, her voice shrilling a tad on the last syllable as his left hand crept towards her inner thigh. A shiver went through her as she tried to shift away from his touch, which resulted in the touch of something else entirely. Her heart slammed against her chest and her mouth went dry when his breathing hitched in her ear.

"Hermione." His voice rustled across her ear in little tufts of hot air, which caused her heart to jump at its cage again. Cedric's thumb found the crease of her leg, and she tried to wrap them tighter around his waist, attempting to limit his access to her.

"We... we definitely should not..." She could scarcely form coherent sentences as his lips skated across her jawline, over her cheek, and to her temple.

"They won't miss us for a few more moments," he promised as he pulled her back away from the wall and carried her into the bathroom. He nudged the door closed with his heel and proceeded to the sink, where he sat her. He reached back to the door and turned the latch to lock it before giving her a sly grin.

"This is hardly polite or proper," Hermione argued half-heartedly as he laid his hands on her knees. She put a hand on either of his shoulders and tried to keep him at arm's length, but it was a futile attempt. He easily pushed himself closer, wedging his hips between her knees and sliding his hands up her thighs. His fingers found their way under her festively-colored tartan skirt and hooked themselves in the top of her leggings. He gave a rough tug and managed to pull the waistband around her bottom, despite the fact that she was seated upon the sink's countertop. Another pull removed the leggings to her knees and yet another pulled them completely off along with her socks.

Hermione's stomach squirmed, and she flinched when his fingertips found her thighs once more, this time to touch bare skin. She closed her eyes and tried to convince herself that she was being stupid because they had done more than this before, but she still could not shake the idea that they should not be in the situation they were in now. All ideas of propriety were drained from her mind, though, when he reached the crease of her legs. He slipped by the edge of her underwear with a single thumb and pressed the pad of his finger to the spot that she needed him to caress the most, even if she would not currently admit it.

Her heart rate beat twice as fast and her hips angled toward him in response as he moved his thumb in a circular motion. Her hands fisted the shoulders of his shirt, and she pulled Diggory closer, her lips finding his. She felt like she needed the breath from his lungs to regulate her own breathing and heartbeat.

Cedric stopped his circulating movement and slid down to her opening, which he was pleased to find ready for him. He withdrew, issuing a groan of protest from her. Unfastening his pants, he allowed gravity to do the rest before pushing his undergarments down as well. He then grabbed Hermione by her hips and pulled her to the edge of the sink. His hands expertly traversed the underside of her skirt once more and found the top of her panties. He eased them away and discarded them on the floor next to her forgotten leggings and socks. Stepping forward, he eased himself between her legs until his own hips brushed the inside of her thighs once more.

She broke their fevered lip lock and pressed her face into his neck as he entered her. The sensation was only a small fraction less painful than it had been the first time, but that still did not stop them. A whimper skittered from behind her lips and across the base of his neck as he pushed himself as deep as he could go inside of her. Cedric paused there and brushed her curls from her face, exposing her neck, at the base of which he left a kiss. He could feel her pulse, quick and short, through the pale skin above her collarbone. Closing his eyes, he concentrated on that tempo and strived to match it with his lovemaking.

Hermione arched her back and released the fabric of his shirt that she had been clenching. Her hands smoothed their way across his broad shoulders and around his neck until she was hugging him to herself as though in fear that she might fall away from that moment in time which they shared. Her every vocalization of pleasure was a soft, tender, and short breeze of warmth across his ear. And the right side of her mouth played a game of tag with the right side of his jaw while her eyelashes tickled his temple. She quivered and quaked, clinging to him with each passing second as though for dear life. And when her limbs began to grow weary and weak, his beamy palms pressed at her spine, holding her body to his.

Their breaths came in gasps and pants; short, heavy hints of growing ecstasy. Their bodies meshed perfectly with each other, despite their remaining garments of clothing. Their lust was intermingling in a way that made this time different from the first. There was no gradualness on his part, only husky, imperative need. And she—never one to be a damsel in distress or utterly helpless—opened up and allowed her passionate dependency to radiate through. Neither were subtle about their need, like they had been on the living room couch of his home that fateful night. Instead, they let the full force of their ardent necessity rush over one another as though trying to see who's need would overcome the other.

Her knees locked, pushing him closer, and her muscles tightened, clenching him in place. He knew from the way that her body was tensing that she was rising to the pinnacle of her excitement, so Cedric bound her in his arms. Her fingertips dug into his shoulder blades, and she felt her sanity begin to tear into tiny shreds. Hermione felt like her skin was fighting to hold all her emotion inside, and if it did not get out soon, her heart would burst from the boiling of her blood and the tension in her muscles. She arched against him and rocked her hips in time with his thrusts, trying to speed up his tempo so that she would reach her peak before her body combusted with pent up frustration.

"Cedric," she whimpered, trying to beg and plead with him to help her with her release.

He was surprised to hear his name in this manner, and it sent a shiver down his spine when it left her lips again on a moan. It was erotic and arousing, and it called to something animalistic inside of him. He had the strange feeling that when she murmured his name with such neediness, she was admitting that he controlled her, which was something that excited him.

Again his name tumbled from her tongue in a wanton prayer, making her sound like a devoted and desperate disciple calling to him as an all-powerful god. Her cries were growing stronger and ever louder. He feared that someone might hear her, so he stole her voice with his mouth, sealing her lips against his so that she could only moan. Her teeth sank into his bottom lip, and it sent a shock through him that blazed straight to his abdomen.

They could barely breathe by the time liberation finally did find them a few seconds later. Hermione's heart had never beat so fast, but she paid it no mind at all. She was just happy that the war for freedom that had been raging inside of her was now over and that peace was settling in. She leaned her forehead on Cedric's shoulder and tried to catch her breath as her lungs and limbs burned from exertion. Likewise, Diggory braced himself against the sink, his knees quaking from fatigue and a cheeky smile of satisfaction affixed to his rumbled features.

"Happy Christmas, indeed," he chuckled, making her snicker, too.


	30. Christmas Creeps

**A/N:** I'm not even sure what to say here, aside from thank you to those who reviewed: _pottersgirl91_ (I've got a letter in the works for you, by the way), _AriesPrincess-Slyffindor, ladyeire3, bookishgirl, Tecumseh Dean, Dramione-Fan 17, Lizzy Evans, Mioniexx, waterflower20, CheshireCat23, LeFemmeQuiRit, bbonin, Seph Meadowes, _and _blowing-winds_. Hopefully this chapter proves to be worth the wait... If not, flay me alive for it, y'all.

* * *

**Chapter 30 – Christmas Creeps**

Entering the kitchen, Hermione sat the newly wrapped package on the counter and smoothed back some stray curls that had come undone from the festive little pin she had trapped all of her numerous strands inside. She glanced over her shoulder and saw Cedric entering the living room, beaming slightly and ruffling his own hair to remove the evidence of where her fingers had twisted in his locks.

"That's a lovely shade of red," Ginny commented as she pulled a dish from soapy water and dunked it in the steaming, clear water in the adjacent basin of the sink.

"What?" Hermione gasped, turning her attention away from her boyfriend as she smoothed her sweater over her stomach and blushed even harder.

"The bow," Ginny replied. "On the package?" she added with a hesitant tone when Hermione started chewing her lip. "What's wrong with you?"

"Oh... just, uh... just that the paper was completely ruined. I'm so distracted about it because I had picked it out specifically. It matched the gift inside perfectly," Hermione babbled.

"You're rambling," Ginny pointed out, narrowing her eyes on Hermione.

"Indeed," Fleur purred from her spot next to the stove, interrupting whatever accusation her sister-in-law was about to make.

Fleur had been standing silently, taking in the scene ever since Hermione had entered the kitchen. She, of course, had recognized the furtive little slide glance Hermione had given Diggory and even recognized the tinge on Hermione's cheeks. She and Bill had stolen intimate, passionate, and wild moments with others in the house before themselves. Her husband was usually left looking as Hermione did right now. Giving a knowing smile, Fleur locked eyes with Hermione, who blanched some under the pinkish tint of her cheeks. The brunette allowed her eyes to go wide and began shaking her head as Ginny busied herself with washing the rest of the dishes. After a sniffle of laughter, Fleur pushed away from the stove and its warmth and crossed over to Hermione. She placed her hand atop Hermione's on the counter and leaned towards her.

"Your secret is safe with me," she breathed in amusement. "After all... do you think Bill and I were so innocent? How else do you think Victoire was conceived?" she added on a twinkling chuckle. With light and joyous steps, she whisked away into the living room where Bill was trying to calm their fussing baby.

Hermione felt her stomach flip-flopping, so she grabbed the package off the counter and followed Fleur into the living room. Would she say anything to Cedric? If so, would he think that Hermione blurted out what they had just done to Fleur and Ginny?

Hermione watched as the lithe blond picked up her cranky child and then cooed to her, carrying her from the room and up the stairs as she began singing a lullaby. A sigh of relief left Hermione's lips in an almost inaudible manner as she turned her attention back to those left in the room.

"Let me sit that back under the tree, dear," Mrs. Weasley offered as she took the gift from Hermione's grasp. "Go turn on the radio," she advised the younger girl as she began situating packages. "We need some cheerful music to liven everyone up."

Glad to have something to distract her, Hermione sidled through the crowded room, pardoning herself when she stepped on someone's toes more than once. She crouched in the corner, turning the knob on the almost-ancient wooden radio. An announcer was talking, updating the room to the latest wizarding politics, and Hermione frowned.

"That'll be quite enough of that," Charlie boomed as he leaned over Hermione and began twisting the dials.

"You're crowding her," Charlie's friend complained as she grabbed the second-eldest son of the Weasley family by his shoulders and pulled him back into his seat. "Let her be. Your mum asked her to do it."

Charlie beamed at his brunette companion and gave her a poke in the side, which was all that Hermione needed to finally be rid of his assistance. The two began laughing and picking at one another while Ron mimed gagging to Harry. Hermione rolled her eyes, wondering if Ron would ever grow up. She returned her attention to the radio and began correcting the position of the knobs once more.

"Oh! Hermione, dear," Mrs. Weasley called excitedly. "Leave it right there. I do love this song," she sighed as she stood upright from where she had been fussing with packages under the tree and began humming along to the tune. Her fingers arranged bulbs and trinkets on the tree as she started to sway.

Mr. Weasley stood, turning his wife to face him and grasping her by her right hip and left hand. He waltzed her in a small circle before the Christmas tree, every colored light reflected in Molly's eyes as she gazed up at her husband lovingly. Hermione smiled and found herself humming along with the song as well, even though she did not know the words. She smiled wistfully as she watched Mr. Weasley began to sing in a merry fashion to his wife.

"When I look into your eyes!" he crowed loudly. "I see sunshine!"

"Shhh! The baby," Molly scolded, but the reprimand came on a laugh that she just could not help. "The clouds are blown away. I hope you're here to say," she added in a sing-song whisper as she leaned her head on her husband's shoulder.

The next two lines that Arthur sang were lost in Molly's fiery but gray-streaked locks. She closed her eyes on a sigh and then he surprised her by dipping her low and belting out the next lines.

"You walk away... my eyes caress you!"

Everyone in the room stifled a snicker or chuckle as Ron pretended to gag yet again. Hermione rolled her eyes in response for the second time and sighed, glancing to where Cedric was perched on a spindle-legged stool across the room.

"Then you turn and smile," he mouthed. He had heard this song before; it was one of his mother's favorites. "You've caught me thinking of love with you." This line had Hermione turning redder than the holly berries that decorated the room. She averted her eyes, silently praying that no one else in the room had been paying attention to them. She fidgeted and felt that the room was pressing down on her, so she struggled to her now tingling feet and tip-toed through the room once more. She needed to make it to the kitchen for some fresh air and a less crowded atmosphere.

She was almost to the door as she squeezed by Mr. and Mrs. Weasley, who were still locked in a dancing embrace. Arthur turned Molly with a little flourish that caused Hermione to go off balance. She tottered backwards and was expecting to land half on the floor and half on the coffee table when she found herself in Diggory's arms for the umpteenth time that night. He grinned and righted her, but did not release her as they continued to watch Molly and her husband waltz.

"Now I look into your eyes," Cedric whispered in tune with the music. "I'm lost in knowing that you are all I want. My need for you is growing... Guess I'm falling, I think I'm falling for you." Hermione peered back over her shoulder at him as he smirked and mouthed the last line on her left temple. "Think about falling for me, too."

A shiver danced between them as it spiraled up her spine and settled at the base of her neck. His warm breath dispelled it, though, as it rolled across her skin and left it begging for contact. He leaned forward and rested his chin on her shoulder, his right temple rubbing softly against her cheek as he swayed her a bit. Her eyes closed in a dreamy fashion as she became lost in the moment. All others in the room ceased to exist and there was only her and him and the caresses between them.

The abrupt clapping of Charlie's friend and Harry brought Hermione out of her lofty daze. She saw Mrs. Weasley's face painted with some chagrin as her husband released her from his embrace. To be in love as they were, for as long as they had been, must be a grand and wonderful thing.

Hermione spun slowly, glancing at Cedric who had his eyes glued to her in an affectionate manner. She blushed slightly and realized with high spirits that such a grand and wonderful thing as the love shared by her friend's parents was not so far out of her reach.

* * *

"Please let Arthur and Charlie escort you at least halfway," Mrs. Weasley begged as she stood at the back door of her home where Hermione and Cedric were bidding their friends farewell.

Hermione released Ginny from her embrace and tried to assure Molly once more that she and Diggory would be perfectly fine once they reached the end of the lane. Their plans consisted of Apparating from the roadside to the nearest point they could go to the Diggory home, then, from there, they would traverse the short distance of his yard and be safely inside. This would only consume a few moments of time, or so Hermione had promised a fretful Mrs. Weasley.

As Diggory wrapped a gloved hand around Hermione's mittened one, he stepped away from the back door and into the yard, which was thickly blanketed with a powdery, soft snow. It compacted and crunched under his feet as he tugged his girlfriend along, nodding his final goodbyes to the Weasley family.

"Thanks again for inviting us!" Hermione called as they turned to begin the trek to the end of the lane.

Just as she drew up beside Cedric, he paused, his ears straining. He glanced at her for a moment and then around them.

"What is—"

"Shh," he silenced her, gazing back at the redheads and black-haired bespectacled young man gathered at the kitchen door. Then he heard it again. "Do you hear my mother calling?"

"Cedric," Hermione laughed, "don't be ridiculous." She gave his hand a squeeze and was about to take a step forward when she looked back to wave again. That was when she saw Charlie and Arthur barreling out of the house, each trying to pull on a coat as they drew out their wands.

"Your mother and cousins have just arrived by Floo! There's an attack mounting on your house!" Charlie informed Cedric as he and his father raced by Hermione and Diggory and toward the end of the lane where they could Apparate.

Cedric said nothing in response. He stood frozen in shock for a moment before peeking at Hermione for a split second. In the next fraction of a heartbeat, he was sprinting after Charlie and Mr. Weasley, his wand out and ready.

Hermione was jerked along with him, her fingers still tightly entwined in his. Mrs. Weasley was shouting in the background for her to come back, but she was not about to run from this fight. She pulled out her wand and let Cedric drag her along to the end of the lane where, without a single word to her, he Apparated them to his own home.

When they reappeared, Diggory released her hand and continued his dash for his house. Charlie and Mr. Weasley were halfway between their Apparation spot and the Diggory home, spells flying every which way. Cedric dodged them with a series of ducks, twists, and turns and ran up to his grandfather, who was battling a relentless, but crippled-looking foe. In fact, as Hermione looked around and took stock of the situation, she noticed that all of the attackers moved in an awkward manner. It was as if their limbs were weighed down or something.

She was about to rush to Amos Diggory's aid when something latched onto her shirt hem. She jumped and spun away, brandishing her wand at the creature. In the wane light of the moon and the spell fire around her, she saw the upturned face of a house-elf. Its fingers reached out for her again, and as she took a step toward it, intent on helping the suffering servant, she realized something was amiss. The eyes were distant and oddly lifeless with an opaque glaze that shone like a layer of white film over the large irises. But this was not all that was wrong. The limbs on the elf's body were bent at odd angles; more odd than mere years of servitude would warrant.

"Hermione!" Charlie roared, trying to wake her from her stupor as he raced to where she stood, frozen and dumbfounded in the snow. However, for every step he took, the elf's gnarled and broken hand got closer to grabbing Hermione's own. "Stupefy!" A red bolt of crackling light burst from Charlie's wand tip with a powerful blast, and it whizzed straight for the miniature statured creature, who had just slipped his fingers around Hermione's own digits. The frigid and somewhat slimy feeling of the elf's fingers repulsed her, and she jerked away. Surprise registered on her face as she realized what had just been standing before her.

"They're... they're..."

"Inferi," Charlie finished for her as he eyed the broken body of the elf, which was now lying a few feet away in the snow. "Go back to the Burrow... now."

"But Ced—"

"Cedric will be fine. He has us to protect him. Go. Now." He shoved Hermione in the direction of the road, begging her in an unspoken way to flee from the fight. She leaned against his rough hands and refused to put her feet in motion, at least in a motion that would carry her away from the wreckage. Charlie grunted and grabbed her wrist, preparing to drag her, but another Inferi worked its way towards them and away from the spell fire. Hermione squared her shoulders, determined to face the zombie-like beast, but her resolve faltered when she realized that her opponent was an innocent-looking teen. Decay marred a face that would have been too thin with powder pink cheeks that would have been speckled with freckles had she not been a lifeless, mindless minion of some disgusting wizard's evil intent. The Inferi tilted its head slowly, sizing up the witch before it. A screech left the lips of the Inferi as it lunged forward, making a grab for the front of Hermione's sweater. She gasped and jumped back, stabbing her wand forward and shouting the first spell that came to mind.

"Reduco!" Radiance burst from the tip of her wand, lighting an area of twenty feet in every direction. As the spell hit, the female Inferi's body doubled over from the force of the spell and then toppled to the ground, rolling head-over-feet until it sprawled face-down and motionless in the snow.

Hermione clapped a hand to her mouth and turned towards Charlie, who clutched her shoulder and resumed his efforts to get her to the roadside and away from the Diggory home. He almost had her there when he let out a strangled groan and arched his back. Releasing Hermione, he spun and locked eyes with an angry-looking pair of Inferi. The mother and daughter team growled and swiped at the air, pieces of Charlie's jacket and shirt clinging to their gnarled, but sharp fingertips.

As the second eldest Weasley son roared a defensive spell at the oldest of the pair, the youngest leaped into the air. Its intent was to launch an attack on Hermione, but Charlie stepped in the way and caught the child Inferi midair. Without much change in plan, tiny teeth sank ferociously into Charlie's shoulder and neck, trying with all their miniature might to rent and tear.

Charlie's bellow startled Hermione into action, and she rushed forward, snatching the beastly child and flinging her away into the snow. As Hermione turned back to her companion, he dropped to his knees in the snow. His head was bent to the left and his right hand was wedged between his shoulder and neck, trying to staunch the blood flow. Pulling off her scarf, Hermione wadded it up and shoved it at his hand. She was fumbling with her wand, trying to remember a healing spell, when the child Inferi returned.

She latched onto Hermione's left leg, biting down into the fleshy muscle and skin on her thigh. A shriek left Hermione's lips, and she began shaking her leg as she grabbed handfuls of the child's hair and pulled. With each yank, a gob of matted hair came lose, but the teeth remained imbedded in her skin.

The pair fell to the ground, rolling around as Hermione tried to kick away her attacker. She dropped her wand in the scuffle, burying it in the snow as they lashed about.

Finally, with bile filling her mouth and throat, Hermione clutched the Inferi's ears in her fist and pulled hard. The wet sound of skin stretching and snapping filled the air, followed by a child Inferi's squealing. Once freed, Hermione dragged herself away from the creature and watched as it rolled on its back in the snow, tiny hands clawing at ears that were no longer there. Looking down to her own hands, Hermione found the pieces of small, decaying flesh in her own palms as they stained her mittens. She flung them away before retching into the snow. Her body shook with effort and colors popped before her eyes, blacking out bits of her vision as they exploded.

Feeling weak and ill, Hermione forced herself slowly to Charlie, who was lying ten feet away in the snow, spitting up blood and trying feebly to clean his wounds with handfuls of ice. She gripped his hand in hers and stared up into the sky, drawing a rattling, raspy breath. Just as she was about to close her eyes, a dark figure came into the corner of her vision. She warred internally for consciousness, but it was a losing battle. The last thing she was consciously aware of was the feeling of a hand clamping onto her forearm and a voice speaking to her in a distant tone.

* * *

Slowly but surely consciousness returned to Hermione as sounds filtered into her brain past the rushing and pounding sound of blood. She first became aware of her body and the burning, stinging sensation of her left leg. The stiffness in her limb stopped her heart for a moment before she realized that it was merely bound tightly in a bandage, thus rendered difficult to move.

Next, she became cognizant of something weighty, but soft covering her body. The heaviness of one of Molly's knitted blankets had her breathing a sigh of relief. She became even more relaxed as she felt the pillow beneath her head and heard the sound of the crackling fire. However, this sound was soon drowned out by an angry female timbre.

"Get back upstairs into that bed, Charlie Weasley!" The stamp of a foot followed this snarled statement as Hermione realized that she was feeling slightly feverish.

"Mind your own business, would you, woman?" Charlie croaked, his voice deeper than usual with a hint of a gravelly rasp. There was a shuffling of feet and a grunt of frustration that had Hermione opening her eyes mere millimeters, trying to survey the situation.

Charlie was standing in the doorway of the living room with his brunette friend, who he had brought home with him from Romania for the holiday. He was shirtless, but bandaged by white gauze that wrapped around his midsection and up over his left shoulder. He had another wrap around his neck and his hair was tasseled in a messy fashion. His pants hung low on his hips, and for the first time, Hermione could see how truly muscular his body was. Blush crept onto Hermione's cheeks, warming her already sweating face even more. However, Charlie's appearance did not seem to register with his companion, who squared her shoulder and planted her feet as she glared at him.

"Woman?" she repeated haughtily. "You had better hope that that's the potion talking, mister." She glared at him, defiant and strong against his own furiously determined gaze. She crossed her arms and shifted her weight onto her left foot, tilting her head and pursing her lips at him.

"Will you just get out of my way?" Charlie snapped, trying once again to sidestep her.

"Just tell me what you need, and I'll get it... although I should dump it in your lap when I do get it for the tone you're taking with me... You know your mother would not want you out of bed. I promised her that she could sleep soundly tonight because I would care for you. What do you think she would think of me if she came downstairs right now and saw you milling about in the kitchen?"

"Merlin's beard! I'm not a hatchling! I don't need you to nurse me!" he snarled. "I'm a grown ass wizard for crying out loud!" He gestured wildly to himself and shook his head before grabbing fistfuls of his fiery locks and hissing like a teapot about to erupt with steam.

"You might not be a hatchling, but you've got the temper of a Ridgeback!" the brunette griped back as she stamped her foot and curled her hands into fists at her sides. Her face was tinged with a red that could rival his hair, and her eyes were filled with a fire more fierce than the one currently burning in the hearth.

"And you're as stubborn as a Horntail!" he threw back, stepping up to her and getting into her face.

"Take that back!" she hissed, shoving him by the shoulders. He staggered back only half a step, but it was enough to make him bump his shoulder against the door frame. Charlie winced and his friend instantly gasped, cupping her hands over her mouth and looking at him sympathetically.

"I'm so sorry," she muttered through her hands as she watched him straighten and rotate his shoulder a bit. "Let me see," she offered, reaching out a tentative hand to gingerly inspect his shoulder.

"I'm fine," he mumbled, shrugging it off.

"No, you're not," she admitted lightly, laying a hand on his chest and gently smoothing the bandage over his shoulder with her other hand. "Inferi bites can be far worse than those of a dragon... The bacteria can cause such a nasty infection. You should probably let me put more salve on this anyways."

He encircled her wrists in his hands then and pushed both of her hands to the center of his chest. She was trying to keep a professional, platonic manner about her administrations, but it was apparent that her contact had Charlie worrying about other things.

Hermione knew she should not watch this, but she just could not tear her eyes away as Charlie smirked and gazed down at his friend, who blushed and chastised him quietly, tugging half-heartedly at her wrists.

"Stop, Charlie," she whispered. "Just go back upstairs and get in bed. I'll get you whatever it is that you want."

"You."

"Me?" she half laughed, shaking her head and rolling her eyes. "Now I know it is the potion talking."

"Why do you fight me?" he asked in earnest. "Everyone we work with says we are the best team, and they swear to Godric Gryffindor that we are a couple... Yet every time I ask you out—up until you came home with me this time—you come up with an excuse as to why you cannot go."

"I just do not think it wise of us to go meddling with love affairs if we work together," she replied, refusing for once since they had begun arguing to make eye contact with him.

"You care for me... I know you do," Charlie accused, trying to see the emotion on her face. He tilted his head as far as he could to the left, dipping his knees so that he was more on her level.

As they stood there, silently warring with themselves, green leaves with a waxen coating began falling on them. The two locked eyes in a confused way before letting their stares move upward. Above them was a fully bloomed sprig of mistletoe, sparkling and rotating slowly with magic as it hung in the air.

Hermione saw the brunette's eyes grow to the size of saucers before Charlie Weasley leaned down and brushed his lips on hers. He pressed her against the doorway, his hands lingering at her hips as her own hands splayed across his chest. At this point, Hermione became intensely uncomfortable and closed her eyes before turning her head. She listened in, hearing their kiss break to ragged breath before they departed up the creaking wooden stairs.

Breathing a sigh of relief, Hermione sat up and gazed around the room. Ron and Harry were sprawled on the floor near the fireplace. Ron's mouth was wide open in a deep-sleep snore while Harry had his face buried in the crook of his arm and his glasses clutched limply in his hand. Ginny was curled up in the recliner, a smirk on her face and her eyes shut tightly. Hermione knew in that instant that it was Ginny who had conjured the mistletoe.

Smirking herself, Hermione finished her appraisal of the room and found Cedric perched in the corner in Mr. Weasley's armchair. He had a blanket draped over his lap and a pillow wedged awkwardly between the side of his head and the wall. He looked tired, but unharmed, which Hermione slightly thanked whatever divine force was watching for.

She sat up then, trying to place her feet on the floor. A chill wound its way up her spine and made her wrap her arms around herself. Pulling the blanket around her shoulders, Hermione began inspecting her leg.

It was wrapped neatly and securely from her hip to her shin in a thick gauze. Just as Hermione was about to undo the clips that kept the gauze in place, someone spoke.

"Mrs. Diggory is a sure hand with healing," Ginny commented as she rose from her recliner and came to alight on the edge of the couch next to her friend. "Ron feared you would lose your leg."

"Is it really all that awful?" Hermione asked with an unsteady voice as she stopped in her effort to remove the clips. She felt her stomach roil and swallowed against the sickness that was forming deep in her throat.

"You've got some scrapes and cuts from fingernails, which are not deep, but they looked pretty irritated. And the bite... I've seen less painful looking bites from some of the creatures we had during Hagrid's Care of Magical Creatures lessons," Ginny admitted. "But Mrs. Diggory is sure that the salve that she and Cedric brewed should leave nothing but some minor scarring."

"I am so sorry that your brother got dragged into all of this," Hermione muttered, bowing her head and staring at her hands in her lap. She studied the pattern of the Christmas-colored blanket wrapped around her, poking her finger through holes in the pattern and forcing back tears. "I'm sorry that anyone got dragged into this, in fact... Maybe I should just give myself up like Harry did at Hogwarts."

"No," Ginny responded immediately, grabbing Hermione's blanket-covered hand. "The Aurors will find whoever is doing this and make it stop... You have to believe that."

"I do," Hermione declared tearfully as she looked up at the redhead next to her. "But how long will it take? Who else is going to suffer?" Here Hermione looked to the ceiling, thinking of Charlie and wondering if he really would be left with just scarring. Then her regard shifted to the floor and, before long, it traveled to the armchair in the corner, where Cedric still slumbered gracelessly in a cramped and uncomfortable looking position.

For a moment, she entertained the thought of Cedric having been hurt instead of Charlie. And as she gave in to her imagination, Hermione saw him pale and frozen in the snow in front of his house. His lips were parted, iced, and tinted with a purplish blue color while his eyes were darkened, the irises no longer warm and colorful. Instead, they sucked up all light and gave no reflection or spark. His hair was dusted over with snow and frost and blowing feebly in the chilly winter wind as Mr. and Mrs. Diggory kneeled beside his body, crying for their lost son and cursing Hermione.

Sensing Hermione's pain, Ginny wrapped her arms around her friend's shoulders and laid her head on Hermione's shoulder. Thick, uncombed locks of fire-colored hair brushed Hermione's cheek, unknowingly wiping away the tears that were skating down to her jaw.

"It's not your fault," the youngest Weasley child whispered as she gave the older girl a squeeze. "You did not ask for this stuff to happen."

"But the more that happens... the more people get hurt," Hermione muttered shakily, tears threatening to break her voice even more, "the more I feel to blame... And I cannot take much more blame."


End file.
